iNlV.  W  CALTF.  UB1UHY.  MW 


By  Mrs.  George  De  Home  Vaizey 

A  Question  of  Marriage 
An  Unknown  Lover 

Lady  Cassandra 
What  a  Man  Wills 


"FOR    THERE.     BUT    A    COUPLE    OF    YARDS    AWAY,     STOOD    THE 
DREAM    WOMAN,    HER    EYES    GAZING    STEADILY 

INTO   HIS."  (See  Page  103) 

From  a  drawing  by  A.  C.  Michael 


What  a  Man  Wills 


By 

Mrs.  Geo.  de  Home  Vaizey 

Author  of  "An  Unknown  Lover,"  "Lady  Cassandra,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Cbe    "Knickerbocker    press 
1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Ube  •Rntcfcerbocfeer  press,  Hew  H?orfc 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

I. — Ax  THE  DYING  OF  THE  YEAR     .         .  i 

II. — THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  MONEY  27 

III. — THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  ADVENTURE  53 

IV. — THE  MAN  WHO  WAITED  FOR  LOVE  .  100 

V. — THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  POWER  .  140 

VI. — THE  MAN  WHO  WISHED  FOR  COMFORT  166 

VII. — THE  GIRL  WHO  ASKED  FOR  HAPPINESS  185 

VIII. — THE  MAN  WHO  WISHED  FOR  DANGER  207 

IX. — THE  MAN  WHO  WISHED  FOR  SUCCESS  266 

X. — THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  WORK  .  292 
XI. — THE  AFTER  YEARS  .  .  .  .317 


WHAT  A  MAN  WILLS 


AT  THE  DYING  OF  THE  YEAR 

THE  New  Year  festivities  were  over;  in  the  hall 
of  the  old  country  Manor  the  guests  had  danced 
and  sung,  had  stood  hand  in  hand  in  a  widening 
circle,  listening  to  the  clanging  of  bells  in  the 
church-tower  near  by.  Now,  with  much  hooting 
and  snorting  of  motors,  the  visitors  from  afar  had 
departed  to  their  homes,  and  the  members  of  the 
house-party  had  settled  themselves  by  the  log 
fire  for  the  enjoyment  of  a  last  chat. 

There  were  eleven  people  left  around  the  fire, 
counting  the  host  and  hostess,  four  men,  and  five 
girls,  all  young,  as  youth  is  counted  in  these  days, 
the  women  averaging  about  twenty-four  or  five, 
the  men  a  few  years  older,  and  in  the  mellow  light 
of  the  fire,  and  of  the  massed  candles  in  the  old 

i 


2  What  a  Man  Wills 

brass  sconces  on  the  walls,  they  looked  a  goodly 
company.  They  belonged,  it  was  easy  to  see,  to 
the  cultured  classes;  whatever  might  be  their 
means  or  present  position,  these  people  had  been 
born  of  gentlefolks,  had  been  educated  according 
to  the  traditions  of  their  kind,  and  were  equipped 
with  the  weapons  of  courtesy  and  self-control, 
which  had  descended  to  them  as  a  heritage  from 
those  passed  and  gone.  Mentally,  they  might 
be  guilty  of  anger  and  impatience;  mentally,  they 
might  rage  and  storm — that  was  their  own  busi- 
ness, and  concerned  no  one  but  themselves;  in 
the  presence  of  their  fellow-creatures  they  could 
be  trusted  to  present  a  smiling  front. 

There  are  occasions,  however,  when  the  most 
reserved  natures  are  tempted  to  unclose,  and  of 
these  the  opening  of  the  New  Year  is  surely  the 
most  seductive.  When  the  guests  have  departed, 
and  the  laughter  is  stilled,  when  for  a  last  half- 
hour  men  and  women  sit  quietly  over  the  fire, 
there  arises  in  the  mind  a  consciousness  of  sever- 
ance with  the  past,  a  sense  of  newness,  which  is  not 
untouched  with  awe. 

A  new  year  has  opened — what  will  it  bring? 
What  gifts,  what  losses,  lie  awaiting  in  its  lap? 
When  its  last  hour  trembles  away  on  the  striking 
of  a  deep  twelfth  chime,  what  will  happen  to  me? 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  3 

Where  shall  I  be?  In  the  language,  the  conscious- 
ness of  earth — shall  I  be  at  all? 

The  tall  dark  girl,  who  had  borne  herself  so 
proudly  during  the  dance,  shivered  and  bent 
forward  to  warm  her  hands  at  the  fire. 

"  Whew !  It's  eerie ! "  she  cried.  ' '  How  I  hate 
new  years,  and  birthdays,  and  anniversaries  that 
make  one  think!  What's  the  use  of  them,  anyway? 
One  ambles  along  quite  contentedly  in  the  daily 
rut — it's  only  when  one's  eyes  are  opened  to  see 
that  it  is  a  rut.  ..." 

"And  that  there  are  a  solid  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  of  it  ahead!"  chimed  in  the  man 
with  the  firm  chin  and  the  tired  eyes.  "Exactly! 
Then  one  pants  to  get  out. " 

"And  bowl  triumphantly  along  the  road  in  a 
C-spring  carriage,  or  the  very  latest  divinity  in 
motor-cars!"  laughed  the  beauty  who  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  oak  settle,  agreeably  conscious  that 
the  background  was  all  that  could  be  desired  as  a 
foil  to  her  red-gold  hair,  and  that  the  dim  light 
shed  a  kindly  illusion  over  a  well-worn  frock. 
"I  object  to  ruts  of  every  kind  and  persuasion. 
They  disagree  with  me,  and  make  me  cross,  and 
I'm  so  nice  when  I'm  pleased!  The  parsons  say 
that  prosperity  makes  people  hard  and  selfish,  but 
it  is  just  the  other  way  about  with  me.  When 


4  What  a  Man  Wills 

there's  not  enough  to  go  round — well,  naturally, 
I  keep  it  all  for  myself;  but  so  long  as  I  have 
everything  I  want,  I  like  other  people  to  be  happy. 
I  really  do!  I'd  give  them  everything  that  was 
over." 

She  looked  around  with  a  challenging  smile,  and 
the  others  obediently  laughed  and  applauded. 
It  was  fashionable  to  have  a  new  role,  and  it  was 
Claudia's  r61e  to  be  honest,  and  quite  blatantly 
selfish.  She  was  pretty  enough  to  carry  it  off, 
and  clever  enough  to  realize  that  her  plain  speaking 
served  as  a  blind.  No  one  believed  for  a  moment 
that  she  was  speaking  the  truth,  whereas,  if  she 
had  not  distracted  attention  by  waving  this  red 
flag,  they  must  certainly  have  discovered  the 
truth  for  themselves.  Claudia's  god  was  self; 
she  would  have  seen  her  best  friend  cut  up  into 
mincemeat,  to  provide  herself  with  a  needed  hors 
(Tceuvre. 

The  tall  man  with  the  large  head  and  the  sharp, 
hawklike  features,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  aflush  with  excitement. 

"Ruts!"  he  repeated  loudly.  " What's  the 
matter  with  us  all  is  we're  content  with  ruts! 
The  thing  which  depresses  me  most  at  the  begin- 
ning of  a  year  is  to  look  back  and  realize  the  futility, 
the  weakness,  the  lack  of  progress.  Great  heavens! 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  5 

how  much  longer  are  we  to  be  content  with  ruts? 
Our  youth  is  passing;  in  a  short  time  it  will  have 
gone.  What  have  we  done  with  our  years?  If  we 
had  been  worthy  the  name,  we  should  have  been 
done  with  ruts  by  now,  they  would  have  been 
paved  over  with  a  smooth  white  path — the  path 
to  fortune !  We  should  have  walked  along  it — our 
own  road,  a  private  road,  forbidden  to  trespassers! " 
A  girl  seated  on  an  oak  stool,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  settle,  raised  her  quiet  eyes,  and  watched  him 
while  he  spoke.  She  was  a  slim,  frail  thing,  with 
hair  parted  in  the  centre  and  coiled  flatly  round 
her  head.  She  had  taken  the  lowest  seat,  and  had 
drawn  it  into  the  shadow,  but  now  she  leaned  for- 
ward, and  the  firelight  searched  her  face.  She 
was  not  beautiful,  she  was  not  even  pretty,  she  was 
small  and  insignificant,  she  had  made  no  effort  to 
join  in  the  conversation,  and  now,  as  John  Malham 
finished  speaking,  she  shrank  back  into  her  corner, 
and  became  once  more  a  frail,  shadowy  shape; 
nevertheless,  a  beholder  who  had  been  vouchsafed 
that  one  glimpse  would  have  found  himself  turn- 
ing once  and  again  to  that  shaded  corner.  He 
would  have  wanted  to  see  that  girl  again;  he 
would  have  been  conscious  of  a  strange  attraction 
towards  her;  he  would  have  asked  himself  curiously 
was  it  liking,  or — hate? 


6  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  girl  said  nothing,  but  a  man  by  her  side 
punctuated  the  pause  by  a  laugh.  He  was  a 
handsome  fellow,  with  a  bright,  quizzical  face 
and  a  pair  of  audacious  blue  eyes. 

"Oh,  be  hanged  to  fortune!"  he  cried  loudly. 
' '  Be  hanged  to  flagged  paths !  They're  the  deepest 
ruts  of  all,  if  you  could  but  see  it.  What's  wrong 
with  us  all  is  lethargy,  slackness,  the  inability  to 
move  of  our  own  accord.  What  we  get  matters 
nothing,  it's  the  getting  that  counts!  Why,  when  I 
think  of  the  whole  wide  world  lying  open,  waiting, 
beckoning,  and  of  fellows  like  myself  pacing  every 
day  of  our  lives  in  a  square  mile  cage  in  the  City, 
I — I—  '  (he  snapped  his  fingers  in  a  frenzy  of 
impatience)  "I  wonder  how  long  I  can  carry  my 
chains!  They'll  snap  some  day,  and  I'll  be  off, 
and  it  will  be  a  long  good-bye  to  the  civilized 
world." 

The  girl  in  the  blue  dress  looked  at  him  with 
wistful  eyes,  but  she  laughed  more  gaily  than 
ever,  and  cried : 

"Wait,  please,  till  after  the  dance  on  the  tenth, 
and  when  you  do  go,  send  home  things  to  us,  won't 
you?  Shawls  and  cashmeres,  and  embroideries. 
And  pearls!  I've  always  longed  to  know  a  real 
live  pearl-fisher.  He  ought  to  remember  us, 
oughtn't  he,  everybody — because  we've  been  59 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  7 

kind  and  patient  with  his  vagaries?  We  all 
deserve  something,  but  bags  Me  the  pearls!" 

"Oh,  you  shall  have  your  pearls  right  enough," 
said  the  handsome  man,  but  there  was  a  careless 
tone  in  his  voice  which  made  the  promise  seem 
worthless  as  sand,  and  he  never  glanced  in  the 
direction  of  the  girl  in  the  blue  dress. 

Pretty,  wistful  little  Norah  Boyce  looked  up 
quickly  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak;  thought 
better  of  it,  and  turned  back  to  stare  into  the  fire. 

The  girl  seated  on  the  oak  stool  leaned  forward 
once  again,  and  looked  straight  into  the  face  of  the 
handsome  man.  One  white  hand  rested  against 
her  throat,  a  slim  column  of  a  throat,  bare  of  orna- 
ment. Her  fingers  moved  as  though  in  imagina- 
tion they  were  fingering  a  rope  of  pearls. 

Buried  in  the  depth  of  a  great  arm-chair  lay 
the  form  of  a  giant  of  a  man  who  had  listened  to 
the  conversation  with  a  sleepy  smile.  At  this 
point  a  yawn  overcame  him;  he  struggled  with  it, 
only  to  find  himself  entangled  in  a  second. 

"I  say,"  he  drawled  lazily,  "what  about  bed? 
Doesn't  that  strike  you  as  about  the  most  sensible 
proposition  for  the  moment?  I  know  this  dis- 
satisfied feeling.  No  New  Year's  gathering  is 
complete  without  it.  Best  thing  to  get  to  sleep 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  start  afresh  next  day. 


8  What  a  Man  Wills 

Things  look  better  after  coffee  and  bacon.  What's 
the  use  of  grizzling?  If  we  can't  have  what  we 
want,  let  us  like  what  we  can  get.  Eh?  It's 
pretty  certain  we'll  never  get  what  we  want. " 

"Are  you  so  sure  of  that?"  asked  a  quiet  voice. 
The  hostess  sat  erect  in  her  seat,  her  graceful 
head  with  its  silvering  hair  silhouetted  against  the 
wall.  She  looked  round  the  circle  of  her  guests, 
and  smiled,  a  fine,  delicate  smile.  "When  you 
make  that  statement,  Frank,  you  are  contradict- 
ing flatly  all  the  premises  of  modern  thought. 
The  time  has  passed  for  sitting  still  and  lamenting 
the  impossible.  The  time  is  past  for  calling  any- 
thing impossible.  The  thing  that  a  man  strives 
for — deeply,  strongly,  persistently — that  thing  he 
can  have!  That  is  the  theory  held  by  many  great 
thinkers  of  to-day.  And  it  is  true. " 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  while  everyone 
looked  questioningly  at  the  figure  of  the  speaker. 
The  man  with  the  tired  eyes  asked  a  question: 

"I  suppose  that  applies  to  women  as  well  as 
to  men!  Have  you  proved  it,  Mrs.  Ingram? " 

"I  have  proved  it,"  answered  the  quiet  voice. 
The  host  leaned  forward,  and  knocked  the  ash  of  his 
cigarette  into  the  grate.  His  face  was  hidden  from 
view.  Mrs.  Ingram  looked  round  with  a  sudden, 
challenging  smile.  "Why  don't  you  all  prove  it?" 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  9 

she  cried.  "Why  don't  you  all  start  forth  on  this 
year  with  an  aim  in  view?  I  don't  say  you  will 
gain  it  in  one  year,  or  in  two,  or  possibly  in  a 
dozen;  but  if  you  care  enough  to  go  on  trying,  it 
will  be  gained!  It's  a  question  of  one  big  aim 
instead  of  a  dozen.  The  lesser  things  must  go; 
you  must  become  a  man,  a  woman,  of  one  idea. 
There  are  other  things  which  are  good  and  pleasant 
and  alluring,  but  they  must  be  set  aside  as  weights 
which  would  hamper  the  chase.  You  cannot  have 
the  one  big  thing — and  everything  else!  There- 
fore it  is  well  to  ask  oneself  seriously  at  the 
beginning — Is  it  worth  while?" 

Once  more  the  guests  were  silent,  staring  into  the 
heart  of  the  fire.  That  last  question,  uttered  in  a 
deep,  grave  tone,  had  called  to  the  bar  those  inner 
voices  which  had  so  long  breathed  envy  and  dis- 
content. Each  listener  examined  his  own  motives, 
and  knew  a  chill  of  doubt,  but  the  chill  passed,  and 
the  conviction  remained.  Each  one  felt  convinced 
that  life  held  no  good  outside  the  coveted  goal. 

The  silence  gave  assent,  as  Mrs.  Ingram  realized 
without  need  of  further  words. 

"Suppose, "  she  said  gently,  "you  make  me  your 
father  confessor  to-night,  and  confess  your  various 
aims  and  ambitions?  It  is  the  sort  of  confession 
appropriate  to  a  New  Year's  dawn,  and  perhaps 


io  What  a  Man  Wills 

the  very  putting  into  words  will  vitalize  your 
dreams  and  take  them  the  first  step  towards 
becoming  realities.  You  must  all  confess,  re- 
member! There  must  be  no  holding  back;  if  one 
begins  the  rest  must  follow,  and  after  the  confes- 
sions have  been  made,  we  must  pledge  ourselves 
to  help  each  other  towards  our  separate  goals,  if 
not  by  material  aids,  by  reinforcing  his  will  with 
our  own!" 

The  girl  in  blue  laughed  lightly,  and  cried: 
"Oh,  let's!  Let's  all  confess,  and  then,  years 
afterwards,  when  we  are  old,  and  wear  transforma- 
tions, we'll  meet  again,  at  the  dying  of  the  year, 
and  sit  round  the  Yule  log,  and  tell  the  stories  of 
our  lives.  And  if  we  have  failed,  we  will  weep  salt 
tears  of  disappointment ;  and  if  we  have  succeeded, 
we'll  weep  more,  because  it's  all  hollow  and  stuffed 
with  bran,  and  we'll  make  pious  reflections,  and 
sigh:  'Oh,  me!  Oh,  my!'  and  preach  sermons  to 
the  youngsters,  and  they  won't  believe  a  word. 
And  so  it  will  all  begin  over  again.  Juliet,  you 
set  the  ball  rolling,  by  speaking  of  ruts.  You 
ought  to  be  the  first  to  confess.  What  is  the 
secret  longing  of  your  heart?" 

The  dark  girl  showed  no  sign  of  embarrassment 
at  being  chosen  to  lead  the  way.  There  was  no 
sign  of  shrinking  or  hesitation  upon  her  face;  on 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year          it 

the  contrary,  at  the  sound  of  that  penetrating 
question,  the  careless  smile  died  away,  and  her 
features  seemed  suddenly  to  glow  with  life. 

"Adventure!"  she  cried  quickly.  "Give  me 
that,  and,  for  good  or  ill,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 
Fate  made  me  with  a  vagrant's  heart  shut  up 
in  a  woman's  body,  and  for  twenty-four  years 
it's  been  fed  on  monotony  in  a  country  parish. 
Since  I  left  the  schoolroom  I've  never  had  a  real 
experience  of  my  own.  I've  had  trivial  pleasures, 
never  one  real  big  joy;  never" — she  looked  slowly, 
thoughtfully,  from  face  to  face — "never  a  grief! 
There's  something  here" — she  laid  her  hand  on  her 
heart — "fighting  to  get  out!  The  ordinary,  quiet, 
comfortable  life  would  not  content  it.  It  wants 
more.  It  wants  happenings,  changes,  excitement 
— -it  wants  the  big  world,  and  I  am  a  prisoner  in 
the  castle  of  convention.  Mrs.  Ingram,  how  does 
your  prophecy  apply  to  me?  How  am  I  to  get 
out?" 

"No  prison  is  so  strong  that  it  cannot  be  pulled 
down,  Juliet.  The  walls  of  Jericho  fell  at  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet.  But  you  must  discover 
your  own  trumpet,  and  the  walls  won't  fall  at  the 
first  flourish,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  and  then  sud- 
denly and  incontinently  she  added :  ' '  Poor  child ! ' ' 

"Just  so!     Miss  Juliet  will  certainly  be  one  of 


12  What  a  Man  Wills 

those  who  will  sigh:  'Woe's  me!'  at  our  future 
merry  meeting, "  cried  the  tall  man  with  the  hawk- 
like features,  "and  it's  rough  on  her,  too,  for  she's 
so  touchingly  modest  in  her  desire.  Doesn't 
care  a  pin  apparently  whether  she  comes  out  better 
or  worse!  Now,  for  my  own  part,  that's  all  I  do 
care  for.  Success!  Success!  that's  my  mania: 
forging  ahead,  gaining  on  my  opponents,  winning 
the  lead.  Adventure  doesn't  count.  I'd  sit  at 
an  office  desk  for  fourteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty- 
four,  for  fourteen  years  at  a  stretch,  if  it  ensured 
success  at  the  end — a  big  success,  a  success  which 
left  me  head  and  shoulders  above  the  ruck.  I'd 
walk  the  world  barefooted  from  one  end  to  the 
other  to  gain  a  secret  that  was  worth  while. 
Success  is  my  god.  To  gain  it  I  would  sacrifice 
everything  else." 

"Then,  of  a  certainty,  it  can  be  yours,"  said 
Mrs.  Ingram  quietly,  and  she  looked  at  him  with 
such  a  gentle  glance  that  he  asked  her  a  laughing 
question:  "Are  you  going  to  call  me  'poor  child!' 
too?" 

"Not  yet,"  she  said  quietly.  Then  she  turned 
to  the  big  man,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "You 
next,  Frank?" 

"Oh,  well!"  he  laughed  good-humouredly  yet 
with  a  tinge  of  embarrassment.  "  I  didn't  bargain 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  13 

for  this  confession  business,  but  since  it's  the  rule, 
I  must  follow  suit,  I  suppose.  I'm  a  commonplace 
beggar!  I'm  pretty  well  content  with  things  as 
they  come.  I'm  not  keen  on  any  adventures  that 
I  know  of ;  if  I  can  have  enough  to  be  comfortable, 
that's  all  I  want.  I'd  like  a  nice  wife,  and  a  house 
with  a  bit  of  garden ;  and  a  youngster  or  two,  and 
a  runabout  car,  don't  you  know,  and  the  usual 
accessories!  That's  about  all  I  fancy.  'Man 
wants  but  little  here  below." 

"Frank  plumps  for  comfort,"  said  Mrs.  In- 
gram, smiling.  "His  programme  sounds  distinct- 
ly restful,  for  a  change.  Take  care  of  your 
figure,  Frank!  I  should  suggest  mowing  the 
garden  as  a  helpful  recreation.  Next,  please! 
Claudia!" 

"Oh,  money,  please!"  cried  Claudia  eagerly. 
"Lots  of  money,  and  a  safe  full  of  jewels.  Do  you 
know,  I  dress  on  forty  pounds  a  year  all  told,  and 
a  rich  cousin  sends  me  cast-offs!  I  take  them 
hungrily,  but  I  hate  her  for  it,  and  when  I'm  a 
millionaire  I'll  cut  her  dead.  A  German  Jew 
stock-broker,  dear,  or  a  Maharajah  of  '  something- 
core, '  or  a  soap-boiler  without  h's — anyone  will 
do  if  he  has  enough  money!  I'd  rather  not,  of 
course,  but  it's  the  only  way!  Dear  people,  will 
you  all  come  to  my  wedding?" 


14  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Claudia,  you  are  impossible!  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed!" 

"Yes,  I  should,  but  I'm  not!  Isn't  it  horrid  of 
me?  If  I  blow  very  loudly,  do  you  think  I  shall 
go  off  this  season?" 

"Claudia  speaks  in  her  usual  highly  coloured 
fashion,  but  there's  no  doubt  about  her  aim.  She 
wants  money,  and,  incidentally,  all  that  it  can 
buy. — Adventure.  Success.  Comfort.  Money. 
We  are  getting  plenty  of  variety!  Rupert,  what 
are  you  going  to  give  us?" 

The  man  with  the  tired  eyes  and  the  firm  chin 
leaned  forward  in  his  seat,  with  his  elbows  resting 
on  his  knees  and  his  chin  supported  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hands.  The  firelight  showed  the  delicate 
network  of  lines  round  eyes  and  mouth,  the 
modelling  of  the  long  curved  lips. 

"I — want' — Love!"  he  said  quietly,  and  a  stir 
of  amazement  passed  round  the  circle  of  listeners. 
He  looked  round  and  smiled,  a  slow,  amused  smile. 
"Surprised,  aren't  you?  Didn't  expect  that  from 
me;  but  it  isn't  as  simple  as  it  sounds.  I'm  not 
thinking  of  Frank's  '  nice '  wife,  and  a  house  in  the 
suburbs,  the  usual  midsummer  madness  followed 
by  settling  down  to  live — stodgily! — ever  after. 
I'm  speaking  of  something  big,  primal,  over- 
whelming; something  that  lasts.  Love  comes  to 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year          15 

most  men  in  the  course  of  their  lives,  a  modicum 
of  love.  The  dullest  dog  has  his  day,  a  day 
uplifted,  glorified,  when  he  walks  like  a  god. 
Afterwards  he  looks  back  upon  it  from  his 
padded  arm-chair,  and  smiles — a  smug  smile.  It 
was  a  moment  of  madness;  now  he  is  sane,  that's 
his  point  of  view;  but  mine  happens  to  be  precisely 
the  opposite!  To  me  those  moments  are  life,  the 
only  life  worth  living.  The  rest  is  a  sleep.  If 
I  could  have  what  I  wish,  I'd  choose  to  love,  to 
be  loved,  like  the  great  masters  in  the  art,  the 
lovers  par  excellence  of  the  ages.  I'd  be  willing, 
if  needs  be,  to  sacrifice  everything  else,  and  count 
the  world  well  lost.  It  would  be  a  love  not  only 
of  the  senses,  but  of  the  mind,  of  the  soul,  and  so 
it  would  live  on,  undimmed  by  the  passing  of 
youth.  That  is  my  dream,  you  understand!  As 
regards  expectation,  I  don't  share  Mrs.  Ingram's 
optimism.  It's  not  only  myself  who  is  involved, 
you  see.  It  is  another  person,  and  my  desires  are 
so  absurdly  in  excess  of  my  deserts.  Who  am  I 
that  I  should  expect  the  extraordinary?" 

He  ceased,  and  again  the  silence  fell.  The  girl 
in  blue  bit  hard  on  her  under  lip  and  shrank  back 
into  the  shadow;  the  girl  who  had  wished  for 
adventure  drew  a  quick  gasp  of  excitement;  the 
woman  who  had  lived,  and  gained  her  desire, 


16  What  a  Man  Wills 

drew  a  quivering  sigh.  Silent,  immovable,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  settle,  sat  the  girl  in  white. 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Claudia  suddenly.  "If 
he  only  had  money!  I'd  adore  beyond  all  things 
to  be  worshipped  on  a  pedestal!  Rupert,  if  an 
old  aunt  dies,  and  leaves  you  her  millions, — would 
I  do?" 

That  was  the  best  of  Claudia,  her  prattle  bridged 
so  many  awkward  gaps !  In  an  instant  the  tension 
had  eased,  and  a  general  laugh  broke  the  silence. 
Rupert  laughed  with  the  rest,  no  whit  embarrassed 
by  the  question. 

"Not  at  all,  Beauty,"  he  said  calmly.  "I 
need  a  great  passion  in  return,  and  you  are  in- 
capable of  it.  Most  women  are!  I  doubt  if  in  the 
whole  course  of  my  life  I  have  met  one  who  could 
rise  to  it,"  and  he  cast  a  quick  glance  round  the 
group  until  his  eyes  met  those  of  his  hostess. 

"Very  few  men  would  understand  what  you  are 
talking  about,  or,  if  they  did,  would  desire  so 
demanding  a  romance,"  Mrs.  Ingram  told  him. 
"The  man  who  does  will  find  his  mate,  but — he 
must  pay  the  price !  So  we  have  come  to  Love  at 
last!  I  thought  it  would  have  taken  an  earlier 
place." 

"Mrs.  Ingram,"  cried  Claudia  boldly,  "was 
that  what  you  wished  for  yourself?  You  told  us 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  17 

you  had  proved  your  own  theories.  Did  you 
wish  for  love?" 

"No!"  said  the  hostess  quietly.  "It  was  not 
love."  She  glanced  across  the  hearth  as  she 
spoke,  and  her  eyes  and  her  husband's  met,  and 
exchanged  a  message. 

The  man  with  the  magnetic  eyes  burst  hastily 
into  the  conversation,  as  if  anxious  to  divert  atten- 
tion to  himself. 

"I  suppose  I  come  next?  I've  been  question- 
ing myself  while  you've  all  been  talking.  It's 
difficult  to  condense  one's  ambitions  into  just  one 
word,  but  I've  got  it  at  last — or  the  one  which  most 
nearly  expresses  what  I  mean.  Danger!  That's 
it.  That's  what  I  want.  I'm  fed  up  with  mono- 
tony, and  convention,  and  civilization,  but  I  go 
a  step  farther  than  Miss  Juliet,  for  I  demand,  so 
to  speak,  the  superlative  of  adventure.  Risk, 
uncertainty,  the  thrill,  the  fear!  I  want  to 
take  my  life  in  my  hands,  to  get  out  into  the 
open  of  life,  and  come  face  to  face  with  the 
unknown.  Put  me  down  as  'Danger,'  Mrs. 
Ingram,  and  when  you  think  over  all  the  wishes, 
mine  really  seems  the  easiest  of  fulfilment.  There's 
plenty  of  trouble  knocking  around,  and  a  man 
need  not  have  far  to  search.  I  think,  on  the 
whole,  I'll  absolve  my  friends  from  that  prom- 


i8  What  a  Man  Wills 

ise  to  help !  It  might  land  them  in  disagreeable 
consequences!" 

"But  are  we  expected  to  wish  you  good  luck? 
It  really  is  an  invidious  position!"  cried  the  girl  in 
blue.  She  sighed,  and  twisted  her  fingers  together 
in  her  lap. 

"It's  coming  to  my  turn,"  she  continued,  "and 
I'm  so  horribly  embarrassed,  for  my  confession 
sounds  the  most  selfish  of  all:  I  want  just  to  be 
happy!  That's  all!  But  it  means  so  much,  and 
it's  such  a  difficult  thing  to  accomplish.  Don't 
anyone  dare  to  tell  me  that  it's  in  my  own  power, 
and  must  be  manufactured  inside,  because  I've 
heard  it  so  often,  and  it's  not  true!  I  need  outside 
things,  and  I  can't  be  happy  till  I  get  them.  But  I 
only  want  them  so  that  I  can  be  happy,  and  I'd 
give  them  up  in  a  minute  if  other  things  would  have 
the  same  effect.  Don't  I  express  myself  lucidly 
and  well?  I'm  a  sweet,  tender-hearted  little  girl, 
dear  friends,  and  I  ask  for  so  little!  Kind  con- 
tributions gratefully  received.  Mrs.  Ingram  dear, 
you  won't  preach,  will  you?" 

"Not  for  the  world,"  cried  Mrs.  Ingram  laugh- 
ing. "Why  shouldn't  you  be  happy,  Meriel  dear? 
I  am  sure  we  all  wish  you  a  short  quest,  and  a  rich 
harvest!  And  what  does  Norah  want?" 

Mrs.  Ingram's  voice  was  a  trifle  apologetic  as 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year  19 

she  looked  towards  where  Norah  Boyce  sat,  turn- 
ing her  head  from  side  to  side  to  listen  to  the 
pronouncements  of  her  fellow  guests,  sometimes 
serious,  sometimes  smiling,  but  always  with  that 
little  wistful  pucker  of  the  brows  which  of  late  had 
become  a  settled  expression.  It  seemed  at  the 
moment  as  if  it  would  be  more  sensible  to  inquire 
what  Norah  did  not  want,  for  a  very  harvest  of  last 
straws  had  combined  to  break  her  back  within  the 
last  two  years.  She  was  an  orphan,  but  having  been 
possessed  of  a  moderate,  but  comfortable  income 
(five  hundred  a  year  to  wit),  had  contrived  to  lead 
a  sufficiently  full  and  agreeable  life  during  the 
half-dozen  years  which  had  elapsed  since  she  had 
left  school.  She  paid  visits,  she  travelled  abroad 
with  congenial  friends,  she  had  a  room  at  a  ladies' 
club,  and  stayed  frequently  as  paying  guest  with 
such  of  her  friends  as  were  not  overburdened 
with  this  world's  wealth.  Everyone  was  pleased 
to  entertain  a  pretty,  particularly  sweet-tempered 
girl,  and  to  receive  five  pounds  a  week  for  the 
privilege,  for  there  was  no  meanness  about  Norah, 
she  looked  upon  money  simply  as  a  means  to  an 
end,  spent  lavishly,  and  was  as  ignorant  as  a  doll 
as  to  the  investments  from  which  her  income  arose. 
She  knew  by  reference  to  her  bank-book  that  a 
cheque  for  about  a  hundred  pounds  was  due  in 


20  What  a  Man  Wills 

December,  and  was  convenient  for  Christmas 
gifts,  and  that  another — about  fifty — arrived  in 
time  for  the  July  sales.  She  knew  that  her  receipts 
varied,  but  that,  of  course,  was  the  result  of  a 
Liberal  Government,  and  would  come  right  with 
its  fall  from  power!  On  one  occasion  a  cheque 
never  came  at  all,  and  it  appeared  that  something 
had  gone  wrong  in  America,  and  that  it  never 
would  come  any  more.  Norah  felt  very  indignant 
with  her  trustee,  and  was  convinced  that  the  loss 
was  entirely  his  fault.  She  asked  pathetically 
what  was  the  use  of  having  a  trustee,  and  felt 
very  Christian  and  forbearing,  because  she  was 
quite  civil  to  him  when  they  next  met, — from  all 
which  it  will  be  gathered  that  Norah  Boyce  was  a 
survival  of  the  old-fashioned,  unworldly,  more  or 
less  helpless  young  women  of  a  past  generation. 
She  had  not  been  trained  either  to  work,  or  to  think 
for  herself;  her  education  had  not  specialized  on 
any  one  subject;  her  value  in  the  wage-earning 
market  was  exactly  nil,  and  before  the  end  of  her 
twenty-fifth  year  her  income  had  fallen  to  nearly 
the  same  point. 

It  had  been  a  year  of  calamity.  Everything 
went  wrong.  A  European  war  sent  down  the 
prices  of  stocks  and  shares.  A  railway  strike 
at  home  swallowed  up  dividends;  a  bank  failed; 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year          21 

water  leaked  into  an  oil  well,  and  dried  up  on  a 
rubber  plantation.  Norah  had  no  time  to  recover 
from  one  disaster  before  another  burst  upon  her; 
while  she  was  still  sorrowfully  digesting  the  fact 
that  a  summer  remittance  was  not  to  hand,  intel- 
ligence arrived  that  as  regarded  autumn  payments, 
the  trustee  regretfully  pronounced  no  dividends. 
In  short,  Fortune,  having  smiled  upon  the  young 
woman  for  twenty -five  years,  had  now  turned  her 
back  with  a  vengeance,  until  eventually  she  was 
face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  in  future  her  work 
must  be  to  earn,  rather  than  to  spend. 

Mrs.  Ingram  had  played  her  usual  part  of  con- 
fidante and  consoler  during  the  year  of  upheaval, 
and  the  invitation  had  been  given  with  the  inten- 
tion of  allowing  "the  poor  little  dear  time  to  think." 
It  would  not  be  tactful  to  exclude  her  from  the 
general  questioning  that  had  sprung  out  of  New 
Year  confidences,  but  in  her  heart  the  hostess 
shrank  from  putting  the  question. 

"And  what  do  you  want,  Norah?  I  think  it's 
your  turn!" 

Contrary  to  expectation  Norah  did  not  look 
at  all  perturbed.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  cried  instantly, ' '  Oh,  Work,  of  course !  Plenty 
of  work.  At  once.  With  a  handsome  remuner- 
ation, paid  quarterly  in  advance!  It  sounds  very 


22  What  a  Man  Wills 

moral  and  praiseworthy,  but  it  isn't  a  bit.  I'm 
not  fond  of  work;  I'd  a  great  deal  sooner  go  on 
amusing  myself  in  my  own  way.  I've  never  had 
one  scrap  of  longing  to  be  a  bachelor  girl,  and  live 
on  my  own,  and  cook  sketchy  meals  on  a  greasy 
stove.  I  detest  food  in  the  raw,  and  should  never 
be  able  to  eat  it,  after  contending  with  it  in  its 
earliest  stages.  I'd  live  on  tea  and  nuts.  But 
it's  a  got-to!  I  must  earn  money,  so  I  must  work. 
The  trouble  is  to  discover  what  I  can  do ...  I 
can  think  of  thousands  of  things  that  I  can't!  .  .  . 
I  can — with  care — make  five  shillings  go  about  as 
far  as  an  ordinary  person's  half-crown,  so  I'm  not 
exactly  suited  to  be  a  housekeeper.  I  couldn't 
trim  a  hat  to  save  my  life,  but  I  can  alter  one  quite 
well.  I'm  clever  at  it.  It's  generally  accom- 
plished by  first  sitting  on  it,  and  then  putting  it  on 
in  the  dark.  You  wouldn't  believe  how  smart  it 
can  look!  Do  you  think  there'd  be  any  chance  of 
selling  the  patent?  Or  could  I  advertise  in  a 
fashion  paper — 'Lady  remodels  hats  to  latest 
mode.  Send  orders  for  two  and  six  to  N.  B. '  ?  .  .  . 
I  can't  write  a  book,  or  paint  a  picture,  or  teach 
a  child  over  three,  or  nurse,  or  massage,  or  type, 
or  keep  a  beauty  parlour — or — or — or  anything 
that  working  women  do  do !  I  might  offer  myself 
to  the  Educational  Society,  as  a  horrible  example 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year          23 

of  how  a  girl  ought  not  to  be  brought  up,  and  be 
exhibited  on  the  platform  at  lectures.  The  work 
would  be  light,  and  I  could  wear  pretty  clothes,  but 
I  don't  think  it  would  be  respectful  to  my  parents. 
I  think  I  must  be  a  'nice  old-fashioned  girl,' 
but  there's  no  demand  for  old-fashioned  girls 
to-day.  Nobody  wants  them!" 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  there,  Norah.  I  think 
there's  a  big  demand,"  Mrs.  Ingram  said  quickly, 
and  from  the  men  present  came  a  deep  murmur  of 
agreement.  No  one  present  was  in  love  with 
Norah  Boyce  herself,  but  all  were  in  love  with  her 
type.  She  would  make  a  charming  wife,  a  delight- 
ful mother.  To  the  end  of  her  life  she  would 
probably  have  difficulties  with  cheques,  and  re- 
main hopelessly  mixed  on  political  questions,  but 
she  would  be  a  genius  in  the  making  of  a  home ! 

"You'll  find  your  right  niche,  dear,  I've  no 
doubt  of  that.  You  mustn't  allow  yourself  to 
despair  before  you  begin  your  search."  Mrs. 
Ingram  continued  smiling.  "Your  ambition,  at 
any  rate,  is  a  thing  in  which  we  can  all  help. 
Please  everybody  remember  Norah,  and  let  her 
know  at  once  if  you  hear  of  a  suitable  post!  I 
think  we  must  make  a  strong  point  of  her  disposi- 
tion. Such  a  very  sweet  temper  ought  to  be 
priced  above  rubies." 


24  What  a  Man  Wills 

"I'll  sell  it  cheap  at  three  pounds  a  week!"  said 
Norah  ruefully,  and  there  was  a  merry  outburst 
of  laughter.  It  died  quickly,  however,  and  a 
general  expectation  made  itself  felt,  the  echo  of 
which  sounded  in  Mrs.  Ingram's  voice. 

"Only  one  more  confession,  and  we  have  gone 
through  our  list.  Lilith  is  hiding,  as  usual,  but 
she  shall  not  escape.  Come  out  of  your  corner, 
you  silent  sprite,  and  tell  us  what  gift  you  would 
ask  of  the  Fates  to-night!" 

"A  white  moss  rose!"  drawled  Claudia  mock- 
ingly, but  the  ripple  of  laughter  which  usually 
followed  her  words  was  this  time  feeble  and  unreal. 

Every  eye  was  turned  towards  that  darkened 
corner;  the  very  fire,  as  though  following  the 
general  example,  threw  up  a  long  blue  flame  which 
flickered  strangely  over  Lilith's  face. 

She  moved  forward  with  a  noiseless  deliberation ; 
first,  two  tiny,  white-shod  feet  gleamed  upon  the 
oak  floor,  then  two  small  hands  clasped  on  folds  of 
satin;  last  of  all,  the  small  head  with  the  tightly 
swathed  hair,  the  small,  straight  features,  and  the 
curious  light-rimmed  eyes.  For  a  long,  silent 
moment  she  sat  gazing  before  her.  Her  voice 
when  she  spoke  had  an  unexpected  depth  and 
richness. 

"I  want,"  said  Lilith  slowly— " Power !" 


At  the  Dying  of  the  Year          25 

Mrs.  Ingram  disapproved  of  anachronisms,  and 
set  her  face  sternly  against  electric  lighting  in  her 
ancestral  home.  To-night,  as  every  night,  the 
retiring  guests  helped  themselves  to  one  of  a  row 
of  silver  candlesticks  on  a  table  near  the  staircase, 
and  lit  it  with  a  match  before  beginning  the  ascent. 
Lilith  was  the  last  of  the  ladies  to  receive  her 
candle;  the  last  to  receive  the  salutations  of  the 
four  men.  She  raised  her  face  to  each  in  turn,  and 
gazed  deep  in  his  eyes,  while  their  hands  met  and 
parted,  and  to  three  men  out  of  the  four  came, 
at  that  moment,  a  vision  and  a  dream.  The  man 
who  had  wished  for  love,  thrilled  at  the  thought  of 
a  woman's  eyes  looking  out  of  an  unknown  face, 
which  yet  would  share  some  magical  quality  with 
those  now  looking  into  his  own.  John  Malham 
saw  in  a  vision  an  icy  peak,  sharp  and  white,  and 
beautiful  with  a  deadly  beauty.  The  touch  of  her 
hand  in  his  was  cold  and  light  as  a  snowflake. 
Val  Lessing  looked  at  the  white  column  of  her 
throat,  and  beheld  round  it  ropes  of  pearls — lus- 
trous, shimmering  pearls  for  which  a  man  might 
venture  his  life;  but  Francis,  the  giant,  had  no 
illusions — he  was  sleepy,  and  he  thought  of  bed. 

Alone  in  the  great  hall,  husband  and  wife 
stood  over  the  dying  logs. 


26  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Well,  wonderful  woman!"  he  said,  "you  have 
given  us  a  wonderful  evening,  and  now  we  must 
stand  by,  and  watch  those  nine  strugglers  in  the 
maelstrom.  It  will  be  interesting;  it  will  be  awful. 
How  many  of  them  do  you  suppose  will  win 
through  to  their  goal?" 

Mrs.  Ingram  did  not  answer  his  question;  she 
asked  another  of  her  own  accord : 

" Did  you  notice, "  she  said  softly,  "that  no  one, 
not  one  of  them " 

"Wished  your  wish?"  he  finished  for  her. 
"Yes!  I  noticed!" 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  they 
stood  together,  gazing  deeply  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

"But,"  she  sighed  softly,  "it  is  the  best!" 


II 

THE   GIRL  WHO  WISHED   FOR  MONEY 

CLAUDIA  BERRINGTON  prided  herself  that  if  she 
had  many  faults,  she  had  at  least  one  supreme 
virtue — she  was  honest!  She  condescended  to  no 
subterfuges,  no  half-truths,  no  beatings  about  the 
bush.  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth  fell  from  her  coral  lips  with  a  naked- 
ness which  astonished  her  hearers,  and  this  despite 
the  fact  that  few  people  had  less  consideration  for 
honesty  for  honesty's  sake.  There  was  no  "I 
can,  because  I  ought"  in  Claudia  Berrington's 
composition;  her  outspokenness  was  simply  a 
means  to  an  end.  Very  early  in  life  her  sharp  wits 
had  mastered  the  fact  that  honesty  was  the  best 
policy,  and  that  to  speak  the  truth  was  at  once  to 
disarm  criticism  and  to  avoid  the  danger  of  pit- 
falls. 

To  Claudia's  supreme  delight,  she  discovered 
that  her  adopted  virtue  was  quite  an  asset  in 
society.  It  was  so  uncommon,  so  arresting  to 

27 


28  What  a  Man  Wills 

meet  a  girl  who  really  said  what  she  meant,  that  it 
made  quite  a  sensation,  when  found.  People  said 
to  one  another:  "Have  you  heard  Claudia's 
latest?"  and  hung  upon  her  lips  in  delighted  antici- 
pation of  shocks.  And  Claudia  duly  shocked 
them,  and  enjoyed  the  process. 

Openly,  at  the  New  Year's  party,  Claudia  had 
confessed  that  the  one  overwhelming  ambition  of 
her  heart  was  to  be  rich,  and  as  there  seemed  only 
one  way  in  which  a  helpless  young  woman  could 
obtain  a  limitless  command  of  money,  had  declared 
herself  ready  to  marry  the  highest  bidder  in  the 
market.  "A  German  Jew  stock-broker,  or  a  Ma- 
harajah of  'something-core,'  or  a  soap-boiler  bereft 
of  h's.  Anyone  will  do ! "  she  had  cried,  "  if  he  can 
only  give  me  enough."  And  in  a  tete-a-tete  with 
a  girl  friend  over  her  bedroom  fire  the  same  night, 
she  had  repeated  and  defended  the  same  statement. 

"Ashamed?"  she  cried,  "why  should  I  be 
ashamed?  I'm  not  a  bit!  How  can  I  help  my 
own  nature?  Most  girls  put  love  before  every- 
thing else.  Well,  so  do  I;  but  it's  love  for  myself. 
I  love  myself  better  than  any  stupid  young  man, 
and  I  mean  to  make  myself  happy.  I  couldn't 
be  happy  without  money,  therefore  money  I  must 
have,  and  if  I  find  a  man  who  is  ready  and  willing 
to  give  it  to  me,  why  on  earth  should  I  refuse?" 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    29 

The  friend  looked  at  the  fair,  delicately  cut  face 
with  a  pang  of  envy. 

"You  are  so  lovely,  Claudia;  you'll  find  him 
fast  enough,  and  he'll  worship  you,  and  think  you 
a  paragon  of  virtue.  It  is  unfair!  A  plain- 
looking  girl  who  would  have  loved  him  back,  and 
been  amiable  and  devoted,  would  have  no  chance, 
whereas  you  will  carry  all  before  you.  It  is 
unfair!" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  quite  sweet  to  him.  I'll  have  to 
be,  to  keep  him  in  a  good  temper.  I'll  be  wickedly 
extravagant,  you  see,  like  all  nouveaux  riches,  and 
I  detest  rows!  Don't  you  worry  about  the  man, 
dear.  He'll  be  happy  enough.  So  long  as  I  get 
all  I  want,  I'm  quite  easy  to  live  with!" 

"No  one  gets  all  one  wants  in  life,  Claudia," 
said  the  friend  tritely.  "All  the  money  in  the 
world  can't  protect  you  from  the  troubles  which 
enter  every  life!" 

"Perhaps  not;  but  it  can  gild  them!  If  I'm 
bound  to  have  troubles,  let  me  have  them  de  luxe. 
A  million  or  two  can  make  anything  picturesque. 
All  the  difference  between  sables  and  bombazine. 
Shouldn't  I  look  sweet,  Meriel,  as  a  widow,  with  a 
Marie  Stuart  bonnet  and  a  cloak  of  priceless 
sables?  He  might  die,  you  know!  You  never  can 
tell!" 


30  What  a  Man  Wills 

Then  Meriel  had  arisen  and  swept  scornfully 
from  the  room,  and  Claudia  had  laughed,  and 
yawned,  and  gone  to  bed. 

Several  men  proposed  to  Claudia  during  the 
next  two  years,  only  to  be  rejected  with  a  finality 
which  left  no  ground  for  appeal,  and  then,  soon 
after  the  celebration  of  her  twenty-fifth  birthday, 
John  Biggs  appeared  upon  the  scene.  He  was 
neither  a  Maharajah  nor  a  German  Jew,  and  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  soap-boiling.  Pro- 
bably in  early  years  he  had  hardly  been  better 
acquainted  with  soap  itself!  He  was  an  Austra- 
lian by  birth;  a  man  of  the  people,  who  by  a  series 
of  lucky  chances  had  first  discovered  a  gold  reef, 
and  then  secured  it  for  his  own.  A  born  fighter, 
he  had  experienced  a  delight  in  every  step  on  the 
road  to  success,  which  was  strangely  lacking  when 
the  summit  was  reached.  He  was  a  multi- 
millionaire; he  owned  more  money  than  he  could 
spend.  The  battle  had  been  fought  and  won,  and 
henceforth  life  stretched  before  him  barren  of 
interest.  He  made  his  way  to  London,  as  million- 
aires have  a  habit  of  doing,  was  eagerly  welcomed 
by  a  certain  section  of  society,  and  in  the  course  of 
a  few  weeks  met  Miss  Berrington  at  a  musical 
"At  Home." 

"Who's  the  Ogre?"  asked  Claudia  of  her  com- 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    31 

panion  as  she  watched  the  entrance  of  the  big, 
lumbering  man,  who  still  carried  his  dress  clothes 
with  an  air  of  discomfort.  She  shuddered  daintily. 
"He  looks  like,  'The  better  to  eat  you,  my  dear.' 
Such  teeth  oughtn't  to  be  allowed!  Has  he  any 
eyes?  They  are  so  buried  in  fat  that  one  can't 
see.  It's  very  inconsiderate  of  Lady  Rollo  to  give 
us  such  shocks!  If  he  comes  over  here,  I  shall 
scream!" 

"That's  Biggs,  the  Australian  millionaire,  the 
third  richest  man  in  the  world,  so  they  say.  He 
is  an  ugly  beggar,  and  as  glum  as  he's  ugly. 
Doesn't  appear  to  get  much  fun  out  of  his  pile! 
There's  no  need  to  be  introduced  to  him,  Miss 
Berrington,  if  you'd  rather  not.  Shall  we  go  and 
hide  in  the  conservatory?" 

The  speaker  was  a  recent  acquaintance,  suffi- 
ciently under  the  spell  of  Claudia's  dimples  to 
believe  her  everything  that  was  disinterested  and 
simple.  Her  reply  gave  him  a  shock. 

"A  millionaire,  is  he?  That  covers  a  multitude 
of — teeth!  I  shan't  scream,  after  all.  No;  I 
don't  want  to  hide.  I've  a  penchant  for  million- 
aires! I'll  sit  here  and  look  pretty!  How  long 
do  you  give  him,  Mr.  Bruce,  before  he  asks  for 
an  introduction?" 

Mr.  Bruce  gave  him  ten  minutes,  but,  as  a 


32  What  a  Man  Wills 

matter  of  fact,  it  was  only  seven  and  a  half  by  the 
clock  before  the  Ogre  was  bowing  before  the 
Beauty's  sofa,  and  being  smilingly  welcomed  to 
a  seat  by  her  side.  He  was  portentously  ugly! 
Claudia,  regarding  him  with  her  long  green  eyes, 
thought  she  had  never  before  beheld  so  unattrac- 
tive a  man.  "Flabby  dabby"  was  her  not  inap- 
propriate mental  definition,  but  the  small  grey 
eyes  looking  out  of  the  vast  mass  of  flesh  were 
disconcertingly  keen  and  alert.  Claudia  realized 
that  her  description  did  not  apply  to  the  man's 
mind,  however  aptly  it  might  fit  his  body. 

As  for  John  Biggs,  no  words  could  describe 
his  admiration  of  this  wonderful  new  specimen 
of  womanhood.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he 
beheld  anyone  so  fair,  so  exquisite,  so  ethereal. 
Her  hair  was  like  threads  of  gold.  The  exquisite 
fineness  and  beauty  of  her  complexion  was  like 
that  of  a  child.  It  seemed  a  miracle  in  the  eyes 
of  the  big,  rough  man  that  a  grown-up  woman 
should  preserve  such  delicacy  of  charm.  Yet  as 
they  exchanged  the  first  commonplaces  of  conver- 
sation there  was  something  in  the  expression  of 
those  sunken  eyes  which  was  not  wholly  approving. 
They  seemed  to  Claudia  like  small  steel  gimlets, 
piercing  into  her  soul!  As  he  bade  her  good-bye 
that  evening,  John  Biggs  announced  coolly: 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    33 

"I  shall  see  you  again  on  Thursday,  as  ar- 
ranged!" and  when  Claudia  exclaimed,  he  waved 
aside  her  protests  with  a  sarcastic  laugh. 

"You  have  been  at  pains  to  tell  me  exactly  what 
you  are  to  be  doing  every  day  of  this  week! 
Didn't  you  intend  me  to  meet  you?" 

Claudia  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  took 
refuge  in  her  usual  honesty. 

"Well — I  did!  But  you  might  have  pretended 
that  I  didn't.  It's  rather  unkind  to  show  that  you 
see  through  my  poor  little  machinations  with  such 
ease." 

"I  never  pretend,"  said  John  Biggs.  His 
eyes  rested  on  the  string  of  imitation  pearls  en- 
circling the  slender  neck,  and  he  spoke  again, 
roughly,  insolently:  "Why  do  you  deck  yourself 
with  sham  beads?" 

"Because  I  have  nothing  better,  of  course. 
What  a  stupid  question  to  ask!" 

"You  ought  to  wear  emeralds,"  he  said. 
"They  are  the  stones  for  you,  with  your  com- 
plexion and  eyes.  You  ought  to  wear  emeralds. 
Ropes  of  emeralds." 

"I    intend   to!"    answered   Claudia   calmly. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  they  stared  at  one  another; 
a  cold  and  challenging  stare. 

During  the  next  fortnight  Society  watched  with 


34  What  a  Man  Wills 

interest  the  progress  of  the  affair  between  "Beauty 
and  the  Beast, "  and  speculation  was  rife  as  to  its 
outcome.  Would  he  propose;  and,  if  so,  would 
she — could  she  accept?  It  seemed  impossible  to 
her  friends  that  even  Claudia,  the  mercenary, 
could  sell  herself  to  this  ogrelike  man.  But 
Claudia  herself  had  no  hesitation. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  after  their  introduction, 
the  couple  sat  together  under  a  tree  at  one  of  the 
outdoor  functions  of  the  year,  and  John  Biggs 
asked  a  sudden  question: 

"What  did  you  think  of  me,"  he  asked,  "when 
you  first  saw  me  that  evening  at  the  Rollos'?" 

Claudia  smiled  at  him  with  the  sweetness  of  an 
angel. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  "you  were  the  ugliest 
man  I  had  ever  seen!" 

"And  yet,"  he  said  sneering,  "you  made 
eyes  at  me  across  the  room.  You  willed  me 
to  come  and  be  introduced!" 

"Yes,  I  did.  But  that,"  said  Claudia  serenely, 
"was  because  you  were  rich." 

The  gimlet-like  eyes  stared  long  and  straight 
at  the  lovely  face,  beneath  the  rose-crowned 
hat. 

"I  think,"  John  Biggs  said  deliberately,  "you 
are  the  most  soulless  human  creature  on  earth! 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    35 

That  lovely  body  of  yours  is  a  shell — a  beauti- 
ful shell  with  nothing  inside.  You  have  no 
soul!" 

"I  don't  want  one,  thank  you.  They're  such 
a  bother.  Why  are  you  so  cross  with  me  all 
of  a  sudden?"  cried  Claudia,  making  a  delight- 
ful little  moue  of  childlike  injury  and  distress. 
"I've  been  so  nice  to  you  all  this  time,  and  it's 
mean  to  ask  questions,  and  then  get  cross  when 
I  tell  you  the  truth. " 

"You  are  false!"  he  replied  coldly.  "Your 
honesty  is  a  blind  to  hide  the  falseness  beneath. 
There  is  nothing  true,  nor  straight,  nor  honest 
about  you."  And  then  bending  nearer,  so  that 
his  huge  brown  face  almost  touched  her  own,  he 
hissed  a  question  into  her  ear:  "Claudia — will  you 
marry  me?" 

Claudia  gave  a  trill  of  birdlike  laughter. 

"Yes,  please!"  she  cried  gaily.  "But  what 
a  funny  proposal!  You  don't  'lead  up'  a  bit 
well.  They  are  generally  so  flattering  and  nice, 
and  you  were  horrible.  Why  do  you  want  to 
marry  me,  if  you  disapprove  of  me  so  much?" 

"Why  do  you  want  to  marry  me?"  he  asked 
in  return.  There  was  no  lover-like  ardour  in  his 
voice;  the  sunken  eyes  gleamed  with  a  mocking 
light;  every  tooth  in  his  head  seemed  to  show  as 


36  What  a  Man  Wills 

he  bent  over  her.  "Is  it  because  you  love  me, 
Claudia?" 

"N-ot  exactly,"  said  Claudia,  with  a  gulp. 
His  nearness  gave  her  a  momentary  feeling  of  suffo- 
cation, but  she  braced  herself  to  bear  it  without 
shrinking.  "N-ot  exactly;  but  I  love  the  things 
you  can  give  me!  It's  a  fair  exchange,  isn't  it? 
You  want  a  hostess;  I  want  a  home.  You  don't 
pretend  to  love  me,  either!" 

Then  suddenly  his  eyes  blazed  upon  her. 

"Not  you,  perhaps,  but  your  beauty!  I  wor- 
ship your  beauty,"  he  cried.  "Your  beauty 
has  driven  me  mad!  Make  no  mistake,  my 
girl,  you  don't  deceive  me — you  are  not  worth 
loving,  not  even  worth  buying,  though  you  are  so 
ready  to  sell  your  dainty  pink  and  white  self,  but 
I  am  going  to  buy  you  all  the  same.  I've  worked 
hard  for  my  money,  and  I  can  afford  to  indulge 
myself  in  worthless  trifles  if  it  suits  my  fancy.  It 
is,  as  you  say,  a  fair  exchange.  You  want  my 
money,  I  want  your  beauty.  I  have  worked 
among  grim  sights ;  now,  for  a  change,  I  shall  look 
upon — You!"  He  stretched  out  his  great  hand, 
and  laid  it  beside  hers.  "Hide  and  satin!  Who 
would  believe  that  we  belonged  to  the  same 
species!  You're  a  dainty  morsel,  my  dear.  We 
shall  make  a  pretty  pair." 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    37 

Claudia  looked  at  him,  and  felt  a  shrinking  of 
heart. 

"You'll  be  good  to  me?  "  she  asked  him.  "  You'll 
promise  not  to  quarrel,  or  be  stingy?  You 
won't  make  me  marry  you,  and  then  put  me  on  an 
allowance,  or  fuss  about  bills?  You'll  promise 
faithfully!" 

"You  shall  have  as  much  money  as  you  can 
spend.  You're  an  object  de  luxe,  my  dear,  and 
shall  be  shielded  carefully  in  your  glass  case. 
I'm  not  a  fool  to  buy  a  curio,  and  not  look  after 
its  preservation.  Take  care  of  your  beauty! 
Deck  it  up!  It's  mine!  I've  bought  it — see 
that  I  get  my  price!" 

He  lifted  his  hand  and  stroked  the  exquisite 
cheek.  Seen  close  at  hand,  the  fineness  and 
smoothness  of  the  skin  was  even  more  wonderful 
than  from  afar.  He  gripped  the  chin  between 
finger  and  thumb,  and  turned  her  face  to  his, 
staring  greedily  at  each  curve  and  line.  In 
appearance,  as  in  manner,  Claudia  went  in  for 
honesty.  There  was  no  artificiality  about  her 
beauty,  not  even  a  brush  of  powder  upon  the  skin. 
The  man  who  had  just  settled  his  terms  regarded 
his  purchase  with  kindling  eyes. 

"I'll  buy  you  your  emeralds,  my  beauty,  the 
finest  emeralds  I  can  find, "  he  cried.  "Everyone 


38  What  a  Man  Wills 

shall  talk  of  you;  everyone  shall  envy  you.     The 
Queen  of  Beauty,  Mrs.  John  Biggs!" 

Claudia  Biggs  had  been  married  for  two  years, 
and  had  flourished  like  the  proverbial  bay-tree. 
Her  wedding  had  been  one  of  the  smartest  func- 
tions of  the  season,  her  honeymoon  had  been 
spent  in  a  lordly  castle  "lent  for  the  occasion" 
by  its  titled  owner.  As  Mrs.  John  Biggs,  she 
had  made  her  presentation  curtsey  to  her  sov- 
ereign in  a  gown  whose  magnificence  was  the 
talk  of  the  town;  every  house  that  was  worth 
visiting  threw  open  its  doors  to  the  millionaire 
and  his  wife,  and  Society  flocked  to  the  enter- 
tainments given  by  them  in  their  turn.  There  had 
been  those  who  had  prophesied  disaster  from  the 
marriage,  who  had  felt  convinced  that  Claudia 
would  not  be  able  to  endure  so  close  a  companion- 
ship with  her  Ogre,  but  as  time  passed  on  they 
were  obliged  to  confess  their  mistake,  for  Claudia 
bloomed  into  an  amazing,  an  almost  incredible, 
beauty.  She  had  always  been  lovely,  but  the 
loveliness  of  Claudia  the  maid  was  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  that  of  Claudia  the  wife.  What  had 
been,  as  it  were,  a  flower  of  the  wayside,  had 
become  the  most  rare  and  costly  of  exotics,  tended 
with  every  extravagance  of  care.  The  most  ex- 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    39 

quisite  garments,  the  most  costly  gems,  were 
showered  upon  her  by  a  husband  who  took  no 
account  of  money  spent  on  the  adornment  of  the 
beauty  for  which  he  had  paid  so  high  a  price ;  but 
if  he  were  generous  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise, 
he  insisted  that  Claudia  should  do  her  own  share. 
She  must  be  sparing  in  food  and  drink,  she  must 
take  regular  exercise;  she  must  keep  early  hours, 
and  retire  to  the  country  for  specified  periods  of 
rest.  John  commanded,  and,  after  one  memorable 
attempt  at  rebellion,  Claudia  had  silently  obeyed. 
She  never  voluntarily  recalled  that  occasion,  but 
from  time  to  time  it  visited  her  in  dreams,  and  then 
she  awoke  screaming,  as  from  a  nightmare. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  the  girl  friend  who  had 
lectured  Claudia  on  the  night  of  her  confession 
that  she  wanted  money  came  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Mayfair  mansion,  afire  with  eagerness  to  see  with 
her  own  eyes  this  strangely  matched  pair.  Claudia 
was  lazy  about  correspondence,  and  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  she  did  exert  herself  to  write,  her 
letters  were  stiff  and  artificial.  She  was  aware  of 
her  own  lack  of  epistolary  skill,  and  was  in  the 
habit  of  referring  her  friends  to  the  Society  papers 
for  news  of  her  doings.  "They'll  tell  you  all  about 
my  dresses, "  she  would  say  serenely,  and  following 
her  advice  her  friends  read  accounts  of  wonderful 


40  What  a  Man  Wills 

brocades  emboidered  with  real  jewels,  of  trains 
composed  of  cloth  of  gold,  and  cobweb  creations  of 
lace,  whose  value  ran  high  in  four  figures,  and  they 
laughed  to  themselves  as  they  read,  recalling  the 
old  days  and  the  rich  cousin's  "cast-offs." 

Certainly  Claudia  could  now  claim  to  be  one  of 
the  most  gorgeously  dressed  women  in  society,  but 
— was  she  happy?  Meriel,  who  was  of  a  romantic 
and  sensitive  temperament,  recalled  the  appearance 
of  John  Biggs  as  he  had  appeared  at  the  wedding 
ceremony :  the  gross  bulk  of  the  man,  the  project- 
ing teeth,  the  small  eyes  glowing  like  points  of 
light,  the  large  coarse  face;  remembering,  she 
shuddered  at  the  remembrance,  and  for  the  hun- 
dreth  time  repeated  the  question — was  it  possible 
that  Claudia  could  know  happiness  with  such  a 
mate? 

Meriel  arrived  at  the  Mayfair  mansion  late 
one  March  afternoon,  and  was  escorted  up  a 
magnificent  staircase  into  an  equally  magnificent 
drawing-room  on  the  first  floor.  Everything  on 
which  the  eyes  rested  was  costly  and  beautiful, 
but,  looking  around  with  dazzled  eyes,  Meriel 
realized  that  this  was  but  a  show-room,  an  enlarged 
curio  case,  in  which  were  exhibited  isolated  objects 
of  value.  There  was  no  harmony  about  the  whole, 
no  skilful  blending  of  effect;  the  loving  touch 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    41 

which  turns  a  house  into  a  home  was  missing  here. 
The  perfect  specimens  stood  stiffly  in  their  places, 
there  was  no  sign  of  occupation,  not  so  much  as  a 
book  lying  upon  a  chair. 

The  first  impression  was  undoubtedly  dis- 
appointing, but  presently  the  door  opened,  and 
Claudia  herself  appeared  on  the  threshold,  and 
ran  forward,  impulsive,  loving,  and  unaffected  as 
in  the  days  of  her  obscurity. 

"Meriel!  Oh,  Meriel!  It  is  ripping  to  see 
you  again,  you  dear,  nice  old  thing!  I'm  ever  so 
pleased  you  could  come.  I  don't  often  have  visi- 
tors. I'm  bored  with  visitors,  but  I  wanted  you. 
And  you  look  just  the  same;  not  a  bit  older.  I 
always  did  say  you  had  the  sweetest  eyes  in  the 
world — and  the  ugliest  hats!  Meriel  darling,  I 
shall  take  you  at  once  to  my  milliner's. " 

"No  good,  my  dear,  I've  no  money  to  spend. 
Besides,  what's  the  use  of  worrying  about  clothes 
while  I'm  with  you?  I'm  bound  to  look  the  veriest 
frump  in  comparison,  so  why  worry  any  more? 
We  are  not  all  the  wives  of  millionaires. " 

"No!  Isn't  it  a  pity?  I  do  wish  you  were. 
Sit  down,  dear,  and  we'll  have  tea." 

Claudia  touched  the  electric  bell  and  seated 
herself  on  a  sofa  a  little  to  the  left  of  her 
friend's  chair,  looking  towards  her  with  a  smile  in 


42  What  a  Man  Wills 

which  complacency  was  tinged  with  a  touch  of 
anxiety. 

"How  do  I  look?" 

Meriel  looked,  laughed,  and  waved  her  hands 
in  the  air  with  a  gesture  meant  to  convey  the 
inadequacy  of  words. 

"A  vision!  A  dream.  Snow  white.  Rose  red. 
A  fairy  princess.  A  diamond  queen.  Quite 
unnecessarily  and  selfishly  beautiful,  my  dear, 
and  as  sleek  as  a  well-stroked  cat!  Really, 
Claudia,  you've  eclipsed  yourself!" 

"Oh,  have  I?  You  think  so  really?  Honestly, 
you  think  so?  Meriel,  you  are  a  dear;  I  do  love 
you!"  cried  Claudia,  and  Meriel  noticed  with 
amazement  that  there  was  unfeigned  relief  in  her 
voice.  It  was  a  new  development  for  Claudia  to 
show  any  uncertainty  concerning  her  own  charms ! 

Throughout  the  meal  which  followed  Meriel 
was  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the  beautiful  crea- 
ture who  sat  beside  her;  her  unaccustomed  eyes 
dwelt  with  something  like  awe  upon  the  costly 
intricacies  of  her  attire,  the  limpid  purity  of  the 
gems  which  glittered  on  the  white  hands.  Claudia's 
clothing  expressed  the  last  word  in  smartness,  but 
she  had  not  been  infected  by  the  modern  craze  for 
powder  and  rouge.  The  beauty  of  her  face  and 
hair  were  due  to  nature  alone,  but,  despite  the 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    43 

warmth  of  her  friend's  admiration,  she  herself 
seemed  to  feel  some  uncertainty  as  to  their  effect. 
From  time  to  time  she  craned  her  head  to  study 
herself  in  a  mirror  which  hung  upon  the  wall,  and 
at  each  glance  her  forehead  wrinkled.  Meriel 
pushed  her  chair  slightly  to  the  left  so  that  she  also 
might  see  that  reflection,  and  discovered  with 
amusement  that  the  cause  of  this  perturbation  was 
a  slight  pink  flush  which  rose  above  the  lace  collar, 
and  touched  the  base  of  the  cheek ;  she  bit  her  lips 
to  restrain  a  smile,  realizing  with  increased  amuse- 
ment that  ever  since  she  had  entered  the  room 
Claudia  had  skilfully  manoeuvred  to  hide  this 
trifling  disfigurement  from  observation.  What  a 
bore  to  be  a  society  belle  who  was  obliged  to  worry 
seriously  about  a  trifle  which  would  probably  dis- 
appear in  the  course  of  a  few  hours ! 

The  two  friends  were  talking  merrily  together 
when  the  door  opened,  and  John  Biggs  entered  the 
room.  He  was  slightly  thinner,  a  thought  more 
presentable  than  of  yore,  but  the  small  eyes  had  lost 
none  of  their  sunken  gleam.  Meriel  had  to  keep 
a  strong  control  over  herself  to  hide  her  shuddering 
dislike  as  his  hand  touched  hers,  but  she  acknow- 
ledged that  he  was  a  gracious  host,  and  that  she  had 
no  cause  to  find  fault  with  the  manner  in  which  he 
gave  her  welcome.  The  greetings  over,  she  dis- 


44  What  a  Man  Wills 

covered  that  Claudia  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
breathing  space  to  move  her  chair  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  small  tea-table,  so  that  her  husband 
from  his  arm-chair  should  see  her  to  the  best 
advantage,  and  the  disfigurement  of  that  slight 
rash  should  be  inflicted  upon  the  guest  rather  than 
upon  himself.  It  struck  Meriel  as  a  pretty,  al- 
most a  touching  action,  and  she  watched  eagerly 
to  discover  if  it  were  possible  that  the  miracle  of 
love  had  united  this  husband  and  wife. 

First  for  the  husband — his  conversation  was 
addressed  as  in  duty  bound  mainly  to  his  guest, 
but  ever  and  anon  his  eyes  returned  to  his  wife, 
and  dwelt  upon  her,  fascinated,  absorbed,  as 
though  of  all  the  treasures  which  the  room  con- 
tained she  was  in  his  sight  the  most  priceless  of  all. 
Then  for  the  wife — a  slight  but  very  perceptible 
change  had  come  over  Claudia's  manner  since  the 
moment  of  his  entrance.  Her  affectation  of  can- 
dour disappeared,  an  air  of  caution  and  reserve 
enveloped  her  like  a  mist.  She  gave  the  altogether 
new  impression  of  considering  her  words,  of 
shaping  them  continually  to  please  the  ears  of  her 
audience.  Yet  she  had  shown  her  old  outspoken- 
ness during  the  first  few  minutes  of  the  interview, 
had  for  instance  had  no  hesitation  in  condemning 
the  ugliness  of  Meriel's  hat.  Obviously  then  it 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    45 

was  her  husband  whom  she  was  considering,  not 
her  guest.  Once  more  Meriel  commended  the 
attitude;  once  more  hope  raised  her  head.  She 
addressed  herself  to  her  host  in  quite  a  cordial 
and  friendly  manner. 

"I  have  been  telling  Claudia  that  she  has 
eclipsed  all  her  former  records!  She  is  looking 
younger,  and  more  brilliant  than  I  have  ever  seen 
her." 

John  Biggs  looked  at  his  wife,  and  his  eyes 
gleamed.  What  did  that  gleam  mean?  Did  it 
mean  love,  the  love  which  a  man  might  naturally 
be  supposed  to  cherish  for  a  wife  so  young  and 
lovely? 

It  was  Meriel's  nature  to  believe  in  her  fellow 
creatures,  and  she  told  herself  that  of  course  it 
meant  love.  What  else  could  it  be?  It  was 
imagination  only  which  had  read  into  that  glance 
something  cold  and  cruel,  a  triumph  of  possession 
more  malignant  than  tender.  When  Claudia  rose 
to  escort  her  friend  to  her  room,  there  came  the 
first  note  of  discord,  for  her  husband  rose  too,  and 
as  she  would  have  passed  by  stretched  out  one 
great  hand  to  detain  her,  while  with  the  other  he 
held  her  chin,  turning  her  face  so  that  the  pink 
rash  was  deliberately  exposed  to  his  gaze.  A 
moment  before  it  had  been  hardly  noticeable,  but 


46  What  a  Man  Wills 

at  that  touch  the  pink  flush  faded  from  Claudia's 
cheek,  leaving  her  so  pallid  that  the  disfigurement 
was  increased  by  contrast. 

"Still  there,  I  notice!"  he  said  shortly,  and  then 
with  a  certain  brutality  of  emphasis:  "Get  rid  of 
that!"  he  cried  deeply.  "Get  rid  of  it.  And 
quickly.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  John,"  Claudia  said,  and  there  was  a 
breathless  catch  in  her  voice,  as  though  his 
words  filled  her  with  fear. 

Meriel  marvelled  still  more! 

Later  on  that  evening,  Meriel  repaired  to  her 
friend's  room  to  indulge  in  one  of  those  hair- 
brushing  t$te-d-tetes  dear  to  the  feminine  soul. 

"Well,  Claudia,"  she  began,  a  touch  of  some- 
thing approaching  envy  sounding  in  her  voice, 
"you  at  least  have  gained  what  you  wished  for! 
You  plumped  for  money,  and  you  have  more  than 
you  can  spend.  Do  you  find  the  experience  as 
satisfactory  as  you  expected?" 

Claudia  smiled,  and  leaned  back  luxuriously 
against  her  cushions. 

"Oh,  quite!"  she  cried  emphatically.  "After 
two  years'  experience,  I  am  still  of  the  opinion  that 
it  is  the  only  thing  that  matters.  It's  wonderful 
what  money  can  do,  Meriel;  it's  magical!  Good 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    47 

people  talk  of  greater  gifts  that  you  may  get  if  you 
are  good  and  self-denying,  and  have  a  dull  time, 
but  they  are  all  in  the  clouds,  and  money  is  so 
delightfully,  so  tangibly  real ! ' '  She  glanced  round 
the  beautiful  room,  then  down  to  the  little  ringed 
hand  stretched  out  to  the  fire;  she  moved  her 
fingers  to  and  fro,  so  that  the  flames  might  wake 
the  sparkle  of  gems,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  luxurious 
content.  "I  used  to  long  for  things  that  I  could 
not  have;  now  I  never  need  to  long,  for  they  are 
mine  as  soon  as  I  think  of  them!  How  can  one 
help  being  happy,  when  one  has  everything  one 
wants?" 

"There  are  some  things  that  money  cannot 
buy. "  Once  more  Meriel  could  not  resist  echoing 
the  truism  of  centuries,  but  Claudia  shook  her 
head  with  laughing  contradiction. 

"Rubbish!  Don't  you  believe  it!  Anyway, 
money  can  buy  such  good  imitations  that  you  can't 
tell  them  from  real!  It  can  do  more  than  that. 
It — "  She  paused,  with  a  sudden  intake  of 
breath,  and  her  voice  sank  to  a  deeper  note:  "// 
can  cover  things  up!" 

Meriel's  eyes  shot  a  curious  glance.  Through 
the  evening  she  had  studied  the  husband  and  wife 
with  a  puzzled  scrutiny,  and  now,  at  the  end  of  it, 
she  felt  as  far  as  ever  from  solving  the  mystery 


48  What  a  Man  Wills 

which  she  sensed  as  lying  beneath  the  surface. 
Claudia's  manner  to  her  husband  was  gay  and 
charming,  but  in  the  midst  of  her  lightest  badinage 
the  friend  of  her  youth  had  discerned  an  effort, 
a  strain,  an  almost  painful  endeavour  to  win  his 
approval. 

And  he?  Nothing  could  be  more  marked  than 
the  man's  care  for  his  beautiful  wife.  Why  was  it 
that  through  all  his  elaborate  attentions  there 
lurked  a  cold,  a  sinister  effect? 

"But  what  can  you  have  that  you  wish  to  cover, 
Claudia?"  Meriel  inquired.  "By  your  own  con- 
fession, you  have  only  to  wish  and  it  is  yours,  and 
you  have  a  devoted  husband  who  looks  after  you 
as  if  you  were  the  most  fragile  of  hothouse  flowers. 
It's  absurd,  you  know,  for  you  were  always  as 
strong  as  a  horse !  That  transparent  look  of  yours 
is  a  delusion;  but  how  upset  he  seemed,  poor  man, 
because  your  cheek  was  just  a  little  inflamed 
to-night. " 

Claudia  straightened  herself;  an  involuntary 
shiver  shook  her  slight  form.  Her  voice  had  a 
nervous  ring: 

"It's  nothing — it's  nothing!"  she  cried.  "Just 
spring,  and  these  horrid  east  winds.  But  it  won't 
go!  I've  tried  a  dozen  things;  and  he  hates  it- 
he  hates  any  fuss  or  illness!  I  must  never  be  ill,  or 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    49 

have  anything  that  spoils.  There's  this  ball  com- 
ing on  next  week,  and  I  am  to  be  the  Ice  Queen. 
I  must  get  my  face  better  before  then!  I've  got 
the  most  wonderful  dress.  He  planned  it  for  me. 
He  is  determined  there  shall  be  nothing  to  touch 
it  in  the  room.  Goodness  knows  the  amount  he 
has  spent  upon  it !  I  simply  daren't  look  anything 
but  my  best!" 

"My  dear  Claudia!"  Meriel's  voice  was  full  of 
protest.  "What  nonsense  you  talk!  You  are 
very  beautiful,  my  dear,  but  you  can't  expect 
an  eternal  perfection !  You  must  have  your  ups 
and  downs  like  other  people,  and  grow  old  in  your 
turn,  and  lose  your  hair  and  complexion,  and  grow 
withered  and  toothless!" 

Claudia  leaped  to  her  feet  with  a  gesture  which 
was  almost  fierce  in  its  intensity. 

"Be  quiet!"  she  cried.  "Be  quiet!  Don't 
dare  to  speak  of  it.  I'm  young  still;  not  twenty- 
seven.  I've  ages  and  ages  ahead  before  I  need 
think  of  growing  old.  And  women  don't  lose  their 
beauty  nowadays.  They  know  how  to  keep  it. 
They  have  to  keep  it!  And  I — I  more  than 
anyone!" 

She  crossed  the  room  to  her  dressing-table,  and, 
switching  on  an  extra  electric  light,  bent  low  to 
examine  her  face  in  the  glass. 

4 


50  What  a  Man  Wills 

"It's  only  a  slight  rash,  Meriel;  but  it  won't  go! 
I — I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it.  I'm  worried 
to  death.  Do  help  me.  Do  advise.  Do  tell  me 
what  to  do." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Claudia's  friend 
had  ever  heard  her  appeal  for  help,  and  there 
was  a  thrill  in  her  voice  which  could  not  be 
denied. 

"My  dear  girl,"  she  said  quickly,  "I'm  no  good 
at  cosmetics.  My  complexion  has  to  take  its 
chance,  and  nobody  cares  whether  it's  good  or  bad. 
But  if  you  are  specially  anxious  to  look  your  best  at 
this  ball,  why  waste  time  in  experiments?  A  few 
guineas  more  or  less  is  nothing  to  you.  Go 
to-morrow  to  consult  the  first  skin  specialist  in 
London." 

Claudia  looked  at  her,  a  long,  thoughtful  look. 
She  began  to  speak  and  checked  herself,  subduing 
as  it  were  a  hidden  fear.  Then  she  nodded  slowly, 
once  and  again. 

"I  will!"  she  said  firmly.  "I  will.  It's  folly 
putting  it  off.  I'll  telephone  at  once,  and  make 
an  appointment." 

The  examination  was  over.  A  longer  and  more 
exhaustive  examination  than  seemed  necessary  for 
so  slight  a  cause.  The  specialist  stood  hesitating, 
his  face  puckered  in  thought. 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Money    51 

Claudia  smiled  at  him  with  her  most  dazzling 
smile. 

"You  think  you  can  make  me  quite  better  for 
the  ball?" 

He  looked  at  her  swiftly,  and  as  swiftly  looked 
away. 

"That  is  a  very  short  time.  I  am  afraid  I  can 
hardly  promise  that. " 

"How  soon  can  you  make  me  better?" 

"These  skin  troubles  are  sometimes  lengthy 
affairs.  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  have  a 
course  of  treatment.  I  should  like  to  see  Mr. — er 
—your  husband,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with 
him." 

But  at  that  Claudia  swept  forward  with  a 
commanding  air. 

"It  is  impossible!  I  forbid  it!  He  does  not 
know  that  I  am  here  to-day.  He  must  not  know ! 
If  there  is  anything  to  be  done,  I  must  do  it  with- 
out his  knowledge !  I  cannot  tell  him.  I  dare  not 
tell  him:  What  is  it  that  is  wrong  with  my  face? 
It  is  only  a  little  rash.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like 
that?  For  God's  sake  say  that  it  won't  take  long, 
that  it  won't  get  worse;  that  I  shall  be  able  to — to 
hide  it  from  him ;  to  keep  my  beauty !  What  is  the 
matter?  Why  don't  you  speak?  You  must  tell 
me.  I  must  know  \  Whatever  it  is  I  must  bear 


52  What  a  Man  Wills 

it  alone!  I  daren't  tell  him — he  must  never 
know!" 

The  great  doctor  turned  away  his  face.  His 
lips  moved,  once  and  again,  before  at  last  the 
dread  word  echoed  through  the  room: 

"Lupus  1" 


Ill 

THE  GIRL   WHO  WISHED  FOR  ADVENTURE 

THE  girl  who  had  wished  for  adventure  journeyed 
back  to  her  native  village  two  days  after  the  New 
Year's  party,  and  spent  the  following  eighteen 
months  in  tramping  monotonously  along  a  well- 
worn  rut.  The  only  difference  made  by  that  oft- 
remembered  conference  was  in  her  point  of  view. 
Before  that  date  she  had  sighed  for  the  unattain- 
able; after  it,  the  unattainable  became  the  possible. 
Some  day,  if  she  but  waited,  opportunity  would 
come;  some  day  the  end  of  a  thread  would  float 
downward  towards  her  hand,  and  grasping  it,  she 
would  be  led  into  a  new  world !  To  the  best  of  her 
power,  she  cultivated  this  attitude,  and  each  mono- 
tonous month,  as  it  dragged  past,  added  strength 
to  her  determination  to  snatch  the  first  opportun- 
ity that  came  her  way. 

At  the  end  of  eighteen  months  the  girl  packed  up 
her  trunk,  and  left  home  to  pay  a  dull  visit  to  a 
great-aunt. 

53 


54  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Don't  expect  me  to  write  letters,"  she  said  to 
her  family  at  parting,  and  the  family  groaned  in 
chorus,  and  cried:  "Please,  don't!  It's  quite 
enough  for  one  of  us  to  be  victimized.  Spare  us 
the  echoes  of  Aunt  Eliza!  Just  send  a  postcard 
when  you're  coming  back." 

Great-aunt  Eliza  was  a  daunting  old  lady  who 
prided  herself  upon  speaking  the  truth. 

" Goodness!  How  you  have  gone  off, "  was  the 
first  remark  which  she  hurled  at  her  great-niece's 
head,  after  the  conventional  greetings  had  been 
exchanged.  She  poured  out  a  cup  of  strong, 
stewed  tea,  and  offered  a  slice  of  leathery  muffin. 
"And  you  used  to  be  quite  nice  looking!" 

Juliet  smiled  with  the  laboured  brightness  of  a 
wallflower  in  a  ballroom,  and  said,  but  did  not  for 
a  moment  mean : 

"I'm  growing  old,  Aunt  Eliza." 

"You  are,  my  dear,"  agreed  Aunt  Eliza. 
"Twenty-eight,  is  it,  or  twenty-nine?  And  three 
other  girls  at  home.  Pity  you  haven't  married! 
Your  father  will  have  precious  little  to  leave. " 

Juliet,  who  was  twenty-six,  and  had  never  had 
a  real  definite  proposal,  smiled  more  laboriously 
than  before,  but  the  muffin  tasted  bitter  as  gall. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  visit,  Aunt  Eliza  read 
a  letter  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  said  suavely: 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    55 

"I  shall  have  to  curtail  your  visit,  my  dear! 
Cousin  Maria  Phillips  writes  that  she  is  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  wishes  to  come  over  to  see  me. 
I  can't  refuse  to  receive  Maria,  but  two  guests 
would  upset  the  servants.  You  must  come  again 
later  on.  Perhaps  there  are  some  other  friends 
you  would  like  to  visit?" 

Juliet  replied  haughtily  that  there  were  many 
other  friends.  When  would  Aunt  Eliza  wish 

"Oh,  there's  no  hurry.  Perhaps  to-morrow," 
said  the  old  lady  calmly.  "This  afternoon,  my 
dear,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  hospital  for  me.  I 
distribute  flowers  in  the  Mary  Wright  Ward  every 
Thursday,  but  I  have  a  slight  cold  to-day,  and 
daren't  venture  out.  Be  ready  by  three,  and  the 
brougham  will  take  you  there.  You  can  walk 
home. " 

At  half-past  three  o'clock,  therefore,  Juliet 
entered  the  long  bare  stretch  of  the  Mary  Wright 
Ward,  dedicated  to  female  surgical  cases,  and 
passed  from  bed  to  bed,  distributing  little  bunches, 
of  drooping  flowers  affixed  to  little  white  cards 
inscribed  with  texts.  The  patients  accorded  but 
a  lukewarm  welcome  to  these  offerings,  but  were 
unaffectedly  pleased  to  welcome  the  handsome  girl 
whose  coming  made  a  break  in  the  monotonous 
day.  Some  of  the  patients  were  sitting  upright 


56  What  a  Man  Wills 

against  their  pillows,  progressed  so  far  towards 
convalescence  as  to  be  able  to  enjoy  a  chat ;  others 
could  only  give  a  wan  smile  of  acknowledgment; 
at  the  extreme  end  of  the  ward  the  sight  of  a 
screened-off  bed  told  its  own  sad  tale. 

The  woman  in  the  nearest  occupied  bed  related 
the  story  in  a  stage  aside. 

"Accident  case,  brought  in  this  morning.  Dy- 
ing, they  think!  Run  over  by  a  motor  in  the 
street.  And  only  a  bit  of  a  girl  like  yourself! 
Mumbles  a  bit  at  times,  delirious-like — nothing 
you  can  understand.  There!  she's  beginning 
again!" 

The  sound  of  the  thin,  strained  voice  sent  a  shiver 
down  Juliet's  spine,  for  there  was  in  it  a  note  which 
even  her  unaccustomed  ears  recognized.  She 
turned  to  depart,  with  the  natural  shrinking  of 
the  young  and  healthy,  but  her  haste  made  her 
careless,  and  the  remaining  bunches  of  flowers 
tilted  out  of  her  basket  and  rolled  along  the  pol- 
ished floor.  Those  that  had  fallen  the  farthest  were 
almost  touching  the  screen,  and  as  Juliet  bent  to 
pick  them  up  the  mumbled  voice  seemed  suddenly 
to  grow  into  distinctness. 

It  was  a  number  that  the  voice  was  mumbling; 
a  number  whispered  over  and  over. 

"Eighty-one!  .    .    .     Eighty-one!  .   .    .     Gros- 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    57 

venor.  Are  you  there?  .  .  .  Eighty-one,  are — 
you — there?" 

The  mumbling  died  away,  rose  again,  was  lost  in 
groans.  Despite  the  weakness  and  the  haste, 
the  listener  realized  a  quality  in  the  voice  which 
differentiated  it  from  those  of  the  other  occupants 
of  the  ward.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  woman  of  edu- 
cation and  refinement,  a  woman  belonging  to  her 
own  class. 

Juliet  shivered,  and,  clutching  her  flowers, 
walked  quickly  down  the  ward.  Half-way  down 
its  length  she  met  the  Sister,  and  put  a  tentative 
question,  to  which  was  vouchsafed  a  cool,  pro- 
fessional reply: 

"Yes.  Very  sad!  Internal  injuries.  Sinking 
rapidly.  Evidently  a  girl  in  good  circumstances. " 

"Do  you  know  her  name — anything  about 
her?" 

The  Sister  shrugged  slightly. 

"Her  clothes  are  marked  'Alice  White, '  and  she 
had  some  American  addresses  and  steamship 
tickets  in  her  purse.  The  Lusitania  landed  her 
passengers  this  morning.  She  has  said  nothing 
coherent,  and,  of  course,  cannot  be  questioned. 
The  matron  is  making  inquiries " 

At  that  moment  the  quiet  of  the  ward  was 
broken  by  a  sound  of  a  cry  of  terrible  import. 


58  What  a  Man  Wills 

Juliet  quailed  before  it,  and  the  Sister,  darting 
forward,  disappeared  behind  the  screen. 

Alas  for  Alice  White,  who  but  a  few  hours  ago 
had  been  young  and  strong,  and  heedless  of  disas- 
ter! Juliet  descended  the  staircase  of  the  hospital 
thrilling  with  horror  at  the  remembrance  of  that 
cry,  her  mind  seething  with  agitated  questions. 
Who  was  Alice,  and  who — a  thrill  of  excitement 
ran  through  her  veins — who  was  Eighty-one,  Gros- 
venor,  with  whom  the  dying  girl's  thoughts  had 
sought  communion? 

Grosvenor?  That  meant  London.  Alice  White, 
then,  had  friends  in  London.  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  communicate  with  them,  rather  than  with 
mere  officials  in  an  office? 

At  the  door  of  the  great  building,  Juliet  hesitated 
and  turned  from  the  street  as  if  to  retrace  her  steps. 
Should  she  go  back  to  the  Mary  Wright  Ward, 
tell  the  Sister  what  she  had  overheard,  and  suggest 
telephoning  forthwith?  For  a  moment  the  sug- 
gestion found  favour,  then,  with  her  foot  out- 
stretched to  remount  the  first  step,  she  drew  back 
and  walked  rapidly  away.  In  the  flash  of  a  mo- 
ment it  had  darted  into  her  brain  as  a  crystallized 
resolution  to  give  her  information  into  no  second 
hand,  but  to  go  herself  to  the  nearest  call  office 
and  ring  up  Eighty-one  Grosvenor.  The  woman 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    59 

in  the  nearest  bed  had  spoken  of  mutterings.  The 
sister  had  caught  no  coherent  words.  If  death 
had  immediately  followed  her  own  interview, 
it  seemed  probable  that  no  one  but  herself  had 
overheard  the  number. 

Juliet's  eyes  brightened,  and  a  flush  of  colour 
showed  in  her  cheeks.  The  information  received 
might  be  of  the  driest ;  the  sequel  of  reporting  it  to 
the  hospital  authorities  promised  but  small  excite- 
ment; nevertheless,  in  her  uneventful  life,  small 
things  counted  as  great,  and  the  touch  of  uncer- 
tainty fired  her  blood. 

She  seated  herself  in  the  little  boxed-off  room, 
and  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes'  wait  received  an 
affirmative  answer  to  the  oft-repeated  question. 

"Yes.  This  is  Eighty-one,  Grosvenor.  Who 
is  speaking?" 

Though  she  had  waited  so  long,  Juliet  was  still 
pondering  how  to  word  her  inquiries.  It  seemed 
useless  to  mention  an  unknown  name,  so  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  she  decided  to  give  a  simple 
account  of  the  accident. 

"Alice  White—"  She  was  about  to  add— 
"has  been  mortally  injured,"  or  some  such  state- 
ment, when,  cutting  swiftly  across  her  words, 
came  a  cry  of  relief  from  the  other  end  of  the  wire : 

"Alice  White!    At  last!    We've  been  expect- 


60  What  a  Man  Wills 

ing  to  hear  from  you  all  day.  It's  urgent.  Why 
didn't  you  wire?" 

"I — I — "  Juliet  stammered  in  confusion,  and 
the  voice,  a  woman's  voice,  interrupted  again, 
in  a  sharp,  businesslike  accent: 

"Never  mind  now.  You  can  explain  later. 
Are  you  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  right!  Then  listen  to  me,  and  give 
your  answers  in  monosyllables.  I  will  spell 
any  names  you  miss,  if  you  ask  me  to  repeat. 
Don't  attempt  to  pronounce  them  yourself,  but 
write  them  down  in  a  note-book.  There  must  be 
no  mistake.  Are  you  ready?" 

"  One  moment. "  Juliet  had  no  note-book,  but  a 
search  in  her  bag  found  a  pencil  and  the  blank  page 
of  a  letter.  "Ready!" 

"You  are  ready  to  write  instructions?  I  have 
been  keeping  over  a  case  until  your  arrival,  as 
it  seemed  in  your  line.  It  is  urgent.  Nice  people. 
Comfortable  surroundings.  You  would  stay  in 
the  house  as  a  guest.  Can  you  go  on  first  thing 
to-morrow?" 

For  one  second,  barely  a  second,  Juliet  hesitated ; 
then  the  answer  came,  short  and  sharp: 

"lean!" 

"That's  good!    Go  to  the  station  to-day,  and 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    61 

look  up  your  route.  There  will  be  several  changes. 
Have  you  your  pencil?  Write  down  'Maplestone 
— Antony  Maplestone.'  Have  you  got  it? 
'  The  Low  House. '  L-o-w.  'Nunkton.'  N-u-n- 
k-t-o-n.  '  Great  Morley. '  '  Maplestone,  The  Low 
House,  Nunkton,  Great  Morley.'  Have  you  got 
that?  Go  on  to-morrow  by  the  first  train.  I  will 
wire  to  Mr.  Maplestone  to  expect  you.  He  will 
explain  the  case.  Are  you  all  right  for  money? 
Take  your  best  clothes,  as  for  a  country  visit. 
Report  to  me  in  the  course  of  a  week.  Do  your 
best.  Good  chance  for  you.  (Yes,  I've  nearly 
finished.  I've  not  had  my  three  minutes.)  You 
understand ,  Miss  White  ?  You  quite  understand  ? ' ' 

"I  quite  understand, "  said  Juliet,  and  sat  down 
heavily  on  the  chair  beside  the  receiver. 

How  had  it  happened?  How  much  was  she  to 
blame?  From  the  moment  of  that  first  interrup- 
tion it  seemed  as  if  she  had  had  no  chance  to  ex- 
plain. Without  any  preconceived  intention  of 
taking  the  injured  girl's  place,  she  had  done  so,  as 
it  were,  without  volition  of  her  own.  The  spirit 
of  adventure,  so  long  nourished,  had  grasped  at  the 
opportunity,  before  the  slower  brain  had  had  time 
to  decide  on  its  action. 

Juliet  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  stared  with 
dilated  eyes  at  the  opposite  wall.  "How  could 


62  What  a  Man  Wills 

I?"  she  asked  herself,  breathlessly.  "How  dared 
I?  How  can  I?"  And  then,  with  a  bursting 
laugh,  "But  I  will!"  she  cried,  and  leaped  nimbly 
to  her  feet. 

"Urgent!  Nice  people!  Good  chance!  A 
guest  in  the  house ! "  Her  lips  moved  in  repetition 
of  the  different  phrases  as  she  walked  rapidly  back 
in  the  direction  of  the  hospital.  She  knitted  her 
brows  in  the  effort  to  understand,  to  reconcile 
contradictions.  What  was  this  Alice  White,  and 
on  what  mission  had  she  crossed  the  ocean?  And 
who  was  Eighty-one,  Grosvenor,  who  issued  orders 
as  to  a  subordinate,  and  gave  instructions  as  to 
reports? 

Only  one  thing  seemed  certain,  and  that  was 
that  it  would  be  many  a  long  day,  if  ever,  before 
poor  Alice  White  was  fit  to  take  up  any  work,  how- 
ever interesting.  Remembering  that  last  choking 
cry,  it  seemed  probable  that  even  now—  Juliet 
resolutely  stifled  further  questionings  until  once 
more  she  stood  within  the  portals  of  the  hospital, 
and  made  her  inquiries  of  the  porter.  He  retired, 
and  returned,  after  a  few  minutes'  absence,  with  a 
face  appropriately  lengthened. 

"Gone,  miss!  Directly  you  left.  Went  off 
in  a  moment." 

Juliet  nodded,  and  turned  back  to  the  street. 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    63 

What  exactly  had  she  intended  to  do  had  Alice 
White  still  been  alive?  Honestly,  she  did  not 
know!  It  seemed  as  though  she  would  never  be 
able  to  answer  that  question.  She  waved  it 
impatiently  aside.  Why  trouble  about  might- 
have-beens?  The  girl  was  dead!  The  only  ques- 
tion of  importance  which  now  remained  was,  what 
was  she  herself  going  to  do  ? 

Juliet  thought  of  the  long  years  of  boredom  and 
waiting  which  had  made  up  her  life;  she  thought  of 
her  dull,  comfortable  home;  of  her  dull,  comfort- 
able visits,  and  longingly,  daringly,  she  thought  of 
the  interesting  "case"  which  was  "urgent,"  and 
a  "good  chance."  She  recalled  with  a  tingling 
of  excitement  her  aunt's  morning  announcement, 
which  necessitated  her  own  departure  on  the 
morrow. 

"I  could  go  over  to  Nunkton,  and  see  what  it 
meant.  If  there  was  anything  I  didn't  like  I  could 
move  on  at  once  to  the  Blakes.  No  one  need 
know;  no  one  need  guess.  Even  if  I  stayed  for  a 
few  days,  it  could  be  arranged!"  She  stopped 
short  in  the  middle  of  the  pavement,  and  drew  a 
deep  breath  of  excitement. 

"It's  my  chance!"  she  cried  to  herself .  "The 
chance  I've  been  waiting  for!  Whatever  happens, 
whatever  comes  of  it — /  shall  go!" 


64  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  next  day  Juliet  set  forth  on  her  voyage  of 
adventure,  with  the  mingling  of  elation  and 
nervousness  inevitable  under  the  circumstances. 
Remindful  of  telephone  instructions,  she  attired 
herself  with  especial  care,  and  was  agreeably 
conscious  that  she  looked  her  best.  A  travelling 
costume  as  smart  as  it  was  simple,  a  trig  little  hat, 
with  just  one  dash  of  colour  at  the  side  to  give  the 
needed  cachet  and  emphasize  the  tints  of  the  face 
beneath.  "Really  quite  a  creditable  face!"  she 
told  herself,  smiling  back  at  a  reflection  of  grey 
eyes  thickly  fringed  with  black  lashes,  curling, 
humorous  lips,  and  the  prettiest  flush  of  pink — 
genuine,  washable  pink — upon  the  cheeks.  "If 
I  were  happy,  if  I  were  interested,  I  might  be 
almost — beautiful,"  she  told  herself  with  a  sigh. 
"Every  woman  grows  plain  when  she  is  superfluous 
and  alone. " 

Seated  in  the  train,  drawing  near  to  her  destina- 
tion, Juliet  found  herself  repeating  the  words  over 
and  over,  like  a  child  rehearsing  a  lesson.  "Alice 
White,"  cried  the  mental  voice,  "Alice  White,"  and 
again, ' '  Alice  White.  It's  my  name !  I  must  answer 
to  it.  I  must  give  it  when  asked.  I  am  Alice  White, 
professional  something — I  don't  know  what.  I 
am  obeying  a  telephone  summons  meant  for  some- 
one else,  and,  if  I  don't  want  to  be  discovered 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    65 

within  five  minutes  of  my  arrival,  I  must  keep 
my  wits  about  me,  and  think  seventeen  times  at 
least  before  I  utter  a  word.  I'm  to  be  met  at  the 
station  and  treated  as  one  of  the  family,  and  to 
remember  that  appearance  is  a  strong  point,  and 
wear  my  best  clothes.  .  .  .  "  She  knitted  her 
brows,  and  for  the  hundredth  time  endeavoured 
to  reach  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  "I  can't  be  a 
sick-nurse;  the  clothes  settle  that.  If  it  had  been 
that,  I  should  have  had  to  confess  at  once.  But  in 
other  capacities  I'm  intelligent,  I'm  experienced, 
I'm  willing.  I'm  more  than  willing — I'm  eager  ! 
There's  no  reason  why  I  should  not  do  as  well  as 
the  real  Alice.  After  all,  it's  quite  a  usual  thing  to 
take  up  work  under  a  professional  name.  Writers 
do  it,  artists,  actors;  there  can  be  no  harm  in  using 
the  poor  girl's  name,  if  I  do  my  best  with  her 
work." 

The  train  drew  up  at  the  station,  a  small,  flowery 
country  station,  and,  opening  the  door,  Juliet 
stepped  lightly  to  the  ground.  Her  carriage  had 
been  at  the  end  of  the  train,  and  the  length  of 
platform  stretched  before  her.  A  glance  showed 
a  solitary  porter  approaching  the  luggage  van ;  one 
commanding  figure  of  an  unusually  big  man,  in  a 
tweed  knickerbocker  suit;  and,  farther  off  still, 
by  the  door  of  the  booking-office,  two  ladies  in 


66  What  a  Man  Wills 

navy-blue  costumes,  apparently  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  friends.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the  train 
another  door  opened,  and  an  elderly  man  carrying 
a  bag  made  a  heavy  descent  to  the  platform.  The 
ladies  stood  motionless ;  the  man  in  tweeds  hurried 
towards  where  Juliet  stood.  She  looked  at  him 
anxiously,  met  the  glance  of  a  pair  of  level  brown 
eyes,  and  was  instantly  conscious  of  two  things 
concerning  his  state  of  mind.  He  was  embarrassed ; 
he  was  also  agreeably  relieved.  The  next  moment 
he  was  facing  her,  and  was  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Miss  White?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  Antony  Maplestone. " 

"Oh!" 

Juliet  was  conscious  that  her  own  sensations 
exactly  duplicated  those  of  her  companion.  She 
was  embarrassed;  she  was  also  agreeably  relieved, 
for  if  adventure  were  to  be  her  portion,  no  girl 
could  have  wished  for  a  more  attractive  stage 
manager  to  initiate  her  into  her  part.  She  stood 
blushing  and  smiling,  wondering  what  to  say  next, 
subconsciously  aware  the  while  that,  by  placing  his 
tall  form  between  her  and  the  end  of  the  platform, 
Maplestone  was  designedly  screening  her  from  the 
scrutiny  of  the  blue-robed  dames. 

"I  have  a  dog-cart  waiting,"  he  said  hastily. 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    67 

"I'm  going  to  drive  you  home,  and  explain  things 
en  route;  my  man  will  look  after  your  boxes.  Er — 
there's  just  one  thing — "  The  air  of  embarrass- 
ment grew  more  marked;  a  flush  showed  in  his 
cheeks.  "It's  a  nuisance;  there  are  two  women 
over  there — neighbours;  I'm  afraid  I'll  be  obliged 
to  introduce  you.  Do  you  think,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, until  we  can  escape,  you  could  manage  to 
look  a  little — intimate? "  His  voice,  his  look,  were 
so  full  of  apology  at  the  suggestion,  that  Juliet's 
surprise  gave  way  to  amusement.  She  laughed, 
a  bright  girlish  laugh,  and  said,  "Certainly!"  in 
crisp,  matter-of-fact  tones  which  were  evidently  a 
vast  relief  to  her  companion.  He  stepped  quickly 
to  one  side,  as  if  anxious  that  her  smiling  face 
should  be  seen  by  others  besides  himself,  and  led 
the  way  down  the  platform,  inclining  his  head 
towards  her  with  an  air  of  deepest  solicitude. 
"You  have  had  a  comfortable  journey?" 
"Oh,  yes,"  Juliet  nodded  gaily,  responding 
readily  to  his  cue.  He  wished  her  to  talk,  he 
wished  the  watching  women  to  believe  that  this 
was  no  first  meeting,  but  a  reunion  of  friends.  For 
some  unknown  reason  it  was  necessary  to  his 
interests  that  they  should  receive  this  impression. 
Very  well,  then,  it  should  be  done.  "Alice  White " 
was  not  going  to  fail  in  the  first  call  upon  her. 


68  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  comfy.  I  had  a  tea  basket. 
China  tea.  Did  you  know  you  could  get  China 
tea  in  baskets?  And  a  ducky  little  pot  of  jam,  all 
to  myself.  Isn't  this  station  pretty?  Such  sweet 
flowers!" 

They  were  close  to  the  ticket  office  by  this  time. 
The  man's  eyes  flashed  a  look  of  gratitude  and 
appreciation.  He  laid  a  light  touch  on  her  arm, 
and  brought  her  to  a  stand  before  the  waiting 
women. 

"Here  she  is!  I'm  not  disappointed,  you  see. 
I  want  to  introduce  you  to  each  other  while  I  have 
a  chance.  Miss  Clare  Lawson,  Lady  Lorrima, 
Miss  Bridges." 

Juliet  bowed  and  smiled,  her  senses  momentarily 
stunned  by  the  responsibility  of  yet  another 
cognomen.  Now  she  would  have  to  begin  all  over 
again  and  train  herself  to  be  "Clare." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  were  keenly  critical ; 
their  words  were  cordial,  if  somewhat  mysterious. 

" So  pleased  to  meet  you!  Quite  an  honour  to 
be  the  first  to  welcome  you.  The  Squire  will  be 
delighted!" 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  him, "  Juliet  declared 
smiling.  She  disliked  the  attitude  of  these  women 
as  much  as  she  was  attracted  by  that  of  the  man 
by  her  side.  Despite  their  assurances,  she  had  a 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    69 

conviction  that  they  were  not  pleased  at  her  arrival ; 
that  it  was  a  disappointment  to  them  to  find  her 
appearance  beyond  criticism.  The  big  man  stood 
silent  by  her  side;  she  divined  also  that  he  was 
nervous  and  troubled,  momentarily  dreading  a  slip 
on  her  part.  She  was  determined  to  make  no  slip. 
Already  she  had  ranked  herself  on  his  side,  and 
felt  the  stirring  of  the  true  actor's  joy  in  making 
the  best  of  his  part. 

The  younger  of  the  two  women  gave  a  diffi- 
cult, unmirthful  laugh.  She  was  a  thin,  elegant- 
looking  creature,  rather  over  thirty,  whose  good 
looks  were  marred  by  an  expression  of  discontent. 

"  Really,  you  know, "  she  cried  in  affected  tones, 
"we  were  beginning  to  think  that  your  name  was 
Harris,  and  that  Antony  had  invented  you  for  his 
own  convenience.  It  seemed  so  strange  that  he 
had  never  spoken  of  you  before. " 

Juliet's  little  laugh  of  response  was  quite  sweet 
and  unruffled.  "Oh,  I'm  very  real,  I  assure  you. 
A  most  substantial  person.  I'm  so  glad  he  didn't 
bore  you  with  descriptions;  they  lead  to  so  much 
disappointment."  She  held  out  her  hand  with  a 
charming  assurance.  "Good-byel  Perhaps  we 
may  meet  again. " 

The  next  moment  they  were  passing  through  the 
office,  out  of  view  of  the  curious  eyes,  and  a  low- 


70  What  a  Man  Wills 

toned  "  Bravo ! "  acclaimed  the  success  of  her  effort. 
Juliet  laughed  in  involuntary  self-congratulation, 
and  Maplestone  laughed  in  sympathy.  The  two 
women,  catching  a  sight  of  the  dog-cart  as  it 
wheeled  down  the  lane,  saw  the  two  laughing  faces 
turned  towards  each  other  in  mutual  enjoyment, 
and  the  sight  was  not  good  in  their  eyes. 

"It's  true,  then;  an  absolute  fact.  And  quite 
presentable,  too.  Well,  Honoria,  I'm  sorry!" 

Meanwhile  Juliet  was  putting  her  first  question 
to  her  companion. 

"Please — why  am  I  Clare  Lawson?" 

His  face  fell.  Amusement  gave  place  to  embar- 
rassment. "Do  you  object?  I'm  sorry  to  have 
sprung  it  upon  you  so  suddenly,  but — well,  you 
had  to  have  some  name,  hadn't  you?  I  suppose 
one  is  as  good  as  another. " 

"Perhaps  so,  but  it's  just  a  trifle  confusing, 
because — "  Juliet  drew  herself  up  on  the  verge 
of  an  incriminating  confession.  "As  you  say, 
it  doesn't  really  matter,  but  I  am  naturally 
interested.  Who  is  Clare  Lawson?" 

"  Er — as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  no  such  person. 
I  invented  a  fictitious  girl,  then,  suddenly,  was 
called  upon  for  her  name,  so  had  to  christen  her 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Clare  happened  to 
be  the  name  of  the  heroine  in  a  novel  I'd  just 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    71 

finished  reading,  and  Lawson  was  the  first  surname 
which  came  to  my  mind.  It's  not  such  a  bad 
name,  is  it?" 

Juliet  made  an  expressive  little  grimace. 

"Considered  as  an  artistic  effort,  I  can't  say 
much  for  it.  You  might  have  done  so  much  better. 
Clare!  I'm  not  a  bit  like  a  Clare.  And  who  is 
Clare  supposed  to  be?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  keen,  comprehensive 
glance.  Juliet  had  an  impression  that  what  he 
saw  increased  his  embarrassment,  from  the  very 
reason  of  his  admiration.  What  he  had  to  say 
would  evidently  have  been  easier  if  she  had  been 
less  attractive,  had  not  so  obviously  belonged  to 
his  own  class.  The  flush  mounted  once  more  to 
his  cheeks. 

"Miss  Lawson,  I  should  like  to  begin  with  a 
word  of  self-defence.  I  have  the  reputation  of 
being  straight  in  my  dealings  and  I  think  I  may 
say  that  it  is  deserved,  yet  at  this  moment,  owing 
to  an — impulse,  to — er — the  folly  of  a  moment,  I 
find  myself  stranded,  implicated — how  shall  I 
express  it?  I'm  in  the  dickens  of  a  hole,  anyway, 
and  for  the  moment  can't  imagine  how  I  am  ever 
to  get  out. " 

"And  if  you  only  knew  it,  so  am  //"  was  Juliet's 
mental  reflection.  Aloud,  she  said  sententiously, 


72  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Such  things  do  happen.  I've  heard  of  them. 
Please  tell  me  about  it.  Perhaps  I  can  help. " 

"That's  ripping  of  you!  You  see,  obviously, 
there  had  to  be  a  girl,  and,  obviously  also,  I 
couldn't  ask  a  friend.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  get  someone  from  outside.  I  searched  the 
newspapers  and  spotted  your  office.  They  said 
they  employed  ladies,  and  being  trained  to  detec — 
to  inquiry  work,  I  thought  it  would  come  easy  to 
act  a  part. " 

In  after  years  Juliet  never  quite  understood  how 
she  retained  her  balance  at  that  moment,  and  did 
not  topple  sideways,  fall  out  of  the  high  cart,  and 
find  a  solution  of  her  troubles.  The  sudden  real- 
ization that  she  was  masquerading  as  nothing  more 
or  less  than  a  lady  detective,  was  so  stunning  in  its 
unexpectedness  and  chagrin,  that  even  the  tactful 
softening  of  the  term  to  that  of  inquiry  agent  failed 
to  restore  her  equanimity.  Now,  indeed,  there  was 
nothing  before  her  but  confession,  for  her  whole 
nature  revolted  from  the  position  of  a  "spy"  in 
the  household.  It  required  a  strong  effort  to  speak 
in  a  natural  voice. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  if  you  began  at  the  begin- 
ning and  told  me  the  whole  story?" 

"That's  what  I  am  trying  to  do,  but  it's  so 
difficult.  .  .  .  The  Squire,  Mr.  Maplestone,  is 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    73 

my  uncle.  He  and  his  wife  have  been  like  parents 
to  me.  I  am  in  the  army — Indian  regiment — 
home  on  a  year's  leave.  They  have  no  children, 
and  I  am  their  heir.  Naturally,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, they  are  anxious  that  I  should — 
er " 

"Many!" 

"Quite  so.  Well!"  in  a  tone  of  aggrieved  self- 
vindication,  "  I  mean  to  marry.  Every  fellow  does 
when  he  gets  past  thirty.  I  came  home  this  time 
with  the  determination  to  get  engaged  at  the  first 
opportunity,  but — er — the  time  has  passed  by, 
and — it  hasn't  come  off.  I've  met  lots  of  girls, 
charming  girls.  I  can't  honestly  say  that  I  haven't 
had  the  opportunity,  but  when  it  came  to  the 
point" — he  shrugged  again — "I  simply  didn't 
want  them,  and  that  was  the  end  of  the  matter. 
The  dickens  of  it  is,  my  leave  is  up  in  two  months 
from  now,  and  the  old  man  is  at  the  end  of  his 
patience.  Last  week  he  had  an  attack  of  gout,  a 
bad  one  too,  and  that  brought  matters  to  a  crisis. 
He  declared  he'd  cut  me  off  there  and  then  if  I 
did  not  get  engaged  at  once.  I  was  sorry  for  the 
old  fellow;  he  was  in  horrible  pain;  the  doctor 
said  he  must  be  soothed  at  all  costs,  so — er — er — 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment  I  invented  Clare.  I 
said  I  was  engaged  to  Clare,  but  that  Clare  was 


74  What  a  Man  Wills 

afraid  of  the  Indian  climate,  and  refused  to  many 
me  till  the  regiment  returned  home,  two  years  from 
now.  I  hardly  realized  what  I  was  saying.  I  was 
between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  But  he 
swallowed  it  whole,  went  off  to  sleep,  and  woke  up 
as  bright  as  a  button.  I  was  inclined  to  congratu- 
late myself  on  having  done  a  clever  thing,  for  as  I 
told  you,  I  intend  to  marry.  I  am  only  waiting 
for  the  right  girl  to  turn  up.  I  may  very  likely 
meet  her  on  the  voyage  out.  Many  men  do.  But, 
retribution  fell  upon  me.  He  demanded  to  see 
Clare.  I  prevaricated.  He  grew  suspicious. 
There  was  another  scene,  another  relapse ;  it  was 
a  case  of  confessing  all,  at  goodness  knows  what 
risk,  or  of  finding  Clare,  and  producing  her  for 

inspection.     So — you  see " 

Juliet  sat  silent;  petrified,  aflame.  While  he 
had  been  speaking,  Maplestone  had  kept  his  eyes 
rigorously  averted  from  her  face;  he  continued  to 
do  so  now,  and  they  drove  along  the  quiet  lane  in  a 
silence  which  could  be  felt — a  throbbing,  palpitat- 
ing, scorching  silence,  which  grew  momentarily 
more  unendurable.  Juliet  told  herself  fiercely 
that  she  was  a  fool  to  feel  embarrassed.  Alice 
White  would  not  have  been  embarrassed.  Alice 
White  would  have  accepted  the  position  as  a  pure 
matter  of  business.  As  Alice  White's  substitute, 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    75 

she  must  pull  herself  together  and  discuss  the 
matter  in  a  cool,  rational  fashion.  If  only  her 
cheeks  were  not  quite  so  hot! 

"It's — er — rather  an  unusual  proposition,  isn't 
it?  It  is,  as  you  say,  somewhat  difficult  to  discuss. 
Suppose,"  she  cried  desperately,  "we  treat  it  with 
a  sense  of  humour!  Don't  let  us  be  serious.  Let 
us  laugh  over  it,  and  then  it  will  become  quite 
easy." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  yes.  How  ripping  of  you!" 
His  eyes  flashed  relief.  "I  can  promise  you  that 
it  won't  be  nearly  as  trying  as  it  sounds.  The  old 
people  will  be  all  that  is  kind,  and — er — you  under- 
stand that  he  is  an  invalid,  and  his  wife  is  his  nurse. 
They  are  engrossed  with  their  own  affairs,  and 
won't  worry  you  with  questions.  It  is  only  in 
your  supposed  connection  with  me  that  you  will — 
er — enter  into  their  lives.  As  to  myself,  I  have 
the  reputation  of  being  reserved  to  a  fault.  They 
won't  expect  me  to — er — er " 

Juliet  forced  a  determined  smile.  "Precisely 
so !  We'll  be  a  model  of  all  that  an  engaged  couple 
—ought  to  be.  But  I  had  better  not  make  myself 
too  agreeable,  in  case  the  subsequent  breaking  off 
should  prejudice  the  old  people  against  you.  I 
conclude  /  am  to  break  if  off  ?" 

"Yes,  please,  if  you  don't  mind — when  I  meet 


76  What  a  Man  Wills 

the  real  girl.  But  please  do  me  credit  pro  tern. 
The  great  thing  is  to  demonstrate  to  the  old  man 
that  I  seriously  think  of  marriage,  and  those  two 
years  give  plenty  of  time.  You  understand  that 
you  have  an  insuperable  objection  to  the  Indian 
climate?" 

"Certainly;  that's  easy.  I've  always  longed  to 
go,  so  I  shall  just  turn  my  arguments  upside  down. 
And — er — where  did  we  meet?" 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,  we  must  have  some  mutual 
coaching.  There's  not  much  time  now,  but  after 
tea  they'll  expect  us  to  have  a  tete-d-t$te;  we'll  go 
over  it  then.  I  was  introduced  to  you  at  Henley. 
You're  the  sister  of  Phil  Lawson,  an  old  school 
friend.  It — er — it  was  a  case  at  first  sight.  We 
got  engaged  on  the  third  day." 

"Most  unwise!"  said  Juliet  primly,  and  they 
laughed  together  with  the  heartiness  born  of  relief 
from  a  painful  situation.  Really,  this  sense-of- 
humour  attitude  was  an  admirable  solution. 

Antony  slackened  the  reins  and,  fumbling  in  a 
pocket,  drew  out  a  small  box. 

"May  I — just  for  the  next  few  days — beg  your 
acceptance  of  this  bauble?" 

"Oh,  thank  you."  Juliet  drew  off  her  gloves 
and  held  up  a  well-shaped  hand,  on  the  third  finger 
of  which  sparkled  a  row  of  diamonds.  "It's  not 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    77 

necessary.  I  can  put  this  one  on  my  left  hand.  It 
has  quite  an  engagementy  look  about  it,  and  I'd 
rather " 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  afraid  it  won't  do.  This  is 
a  family  heirloom.  The  old  man  would  consider 
it  a  slight  if  it  were  not  used.  Just  for  one  week. " 

He  opened  the  box,  and  showed  a  great  square- 
cut  emerald  set  in  a  border  of  diamonds — an 
antique  jewel,  evidently  of  considerable  value — 
lifted  it  between  ringer  and  thumb,  and  held  it  out 
with  calm  expectancy.  Quite  calmly  also,  Juliet 
extended  her  left  hand ;  but  at  the  mutual  touch,  it 
was  impossible  to  resist  a  thrill  of  embarrassment, 
a  lightning  realization  of  what  the  moment  might 
have  meant  had  the  action  been  real  instead  of 
masquerade.  Juliet  hastily  drew  on  her  gloves; 
Antony  became  engrossed  in  driving.  They  drove 
in  silence  up  a  long  drive,  and  saw  before  them  an 
old  stone  mansion,  covered  with  clustering  ivy. 

The  butler  stared,  the  footman  stared.  Raising 
her  eyes  as  she  passed  under  the  great  well  of  the 
staircase,  Juliet  caught  the  flash  of  a  white  cap 
hurriedly  withdrawn.  A  baize  door,  obviously 
leading  into  the  servants'  quarters,  creaked 
eloquently  upon  its  hinges.  The  back  of  Antony's 
neck  grew  ever  redder  and  redder  as  he  led  the  way 


78  What  a  Man  Wills 

onwards ;  finally  the  drawing-room  door  was  flung 
open,  and  across  a  space  of  chintz,  and  tapestry, 
and  massed-up  roses,  Juliet  beheld  two  figures  rise 
hurriedly  in  welcome. 

The  aunt's  thin  locks  were  parted  in  the  middle, 
and  surmounted  by  a  lace  cap  with  a  lavender  bow. 
She  wore  a  douce  black  silk  dress,  with  a  douce  lace 
collar.  She  looked  Victorian,  and  downtrodden, 
and  meek,  and  Juliet  dismissed  her  in  half  a  dozen 
words. 

"She'll  swallow  anything!" 

The  Squire  had  a  short  neck,  a  red  face,  steel 
blue  eyes,  and  a  white  waistcoat.  He  stood  about 
five  feet  four  in  his  boots  and  bore  himself  with  the 
air  of  a  giant. 

"He'll  swallow  nothing!"  was  Juliet's  second 
diagnosis,  and  she  braced  herself  for  the  fray. 
The  introduction  was  simple  in  the  extreme. 

"This  is  Clare!"  said  Antony,  whereupon  Mrs. 
Maplestone  said  hurriedly:  "How  d'you  do.  So 
pleased !  You  must  have  tea ! "  and  the  Squire  said 
nothing  at  all,  but  cleared  his  throat,  and  pulled 
forward  a  chair.  Then  they  all  sat  down,  and  Mrs. 
Maplestone  busied  herself  over  the  tea-tray,  while 
her  husband  took  his  turn  to  stare. 

He  began  at  Juliet's  feet,  and  considered  them 
judiciously.  Large,  but  well  shaped,  wore  a  good 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    79 

boot.  Next  he  studied  her  hands,  cocking  a  jeal- 
ous eye  at  the  emerald  ring.  Large  again,  but 
white;  good  fingers;  manicured  nails.  Thirdly 
he  considered  her  figure,  and  was  pleased  to  ap- 
prove. Fine  girl,  some  flesh  on  her  bones,  none  of 
your  modern  skeletons.  Last  of  all  he  looked  at 
her  face.  "Humph!  not  so  bad.  Points;  dis- 
tinctly points!  Antony  was  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
looked!"  In  five  minutes'  time  the  Squire  could 
have  passed  an  examination  on  the  subject  of 
Juliet's  appearance,  and  she  realized  as  much,  and 
felt  correspondingly  elated  when  the  hard  eyes 
softened,  and  an  offer  of  hot  scones  was  prefaced 
by,  "  My  dear. "  My  dear  had  been  examined  and 
found  correct.  My  dear  was  approved.  By  the 
time  that  cups  were  filled  for  the  second  time,  the 
Squire  had  thawed  to  the  point  of  jocularity. 

"Well,  Miss  Clare,  and  what  tales  has  this  fine 
fellow  been  telling  you  about  me?  Wicked  uncle, 
eh?  Cruel  ogre.  Gouty  old  tartar,  who  insists 
upon  having  his  own  way,  and  bullies  his  unfor- 
tunate nephew  till  he  is  obliged  to  give  in  for  the 
sake  of  peace?  That's  it,  eh?  That's  what  he 
told  you." 

Juliet  looked  across  at  Antony,  discovered  him 
flushed,  frowning,  supremely  uncomfortable,  and 
tilted  her  head  with  a  charming  audacity. 


8o  What  a  Man  Wills 

"  Does  that  mean  that  he  was  bullied  into  having 
Me?  It  wouldn't  be  exactly  'peaceful'  for  him, 
if  I  believed  that!  He  certainly  would  not  dare 
to  tell  me  anything  so  unflattering." 

The  Squire  hastened  to  eat  his  words.  The  girl 
was  a  nice  girl ;  frank,  friendly,  with  a  touch  of  the 
devil  which  was  entirely  to  his  taste.  Not  for  the 
world  would  he  prejudice  her  against  the  boy. 

"No,  no;  not  at  all,  not  at  all.  Precious  little 
notice  he  took  of  my  wishes,  until  it  suited  himself 
to  follow  my  advice.  Obstinate  fellow,  you  know ; 
obstinate  as  a  mule.  Wouldn't  think  it  to  see  him 
sitting  there,  looking  as  if  he  couldn't  say  bo  to  a 
goose;  but  it's  a  fact.  You'll  find  it  out  another 
day!" 

"I  like  a  man  to  have  a  strong  will, "  Juliet  said 
with  the  air  of  a  meek,  gentle,  little  fiancee,  and  the 
Squire  laughedjoudly,  and  made  a  characteristic 
change  of  front. 

"Glad  to  hear  it!  Glad  you  don't  go  in  for  any 
of  this  fashionable  nonsense  about  independence 
and  equality.  You  obey  your  husband,  my  dear, 
and  stay  quietly  in  your  home,  and  content  your- 
self with  your  house  duties,  as  your  mother  did 
before  you.  What  has  she  got  to  say  about  this 
precious  engagement?" 

"Mother  thinks  of  me.     She  is  glad  of  anything 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    81 

that  makes  me  happy,"  Juliet  said,  and  flattered 
herself  that  she  had  rounded  the  corner  rather 
neatly.  Antony  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  as 
quickly  looked  away.  Little  Mrs.  Maplestone 
gave  a  soft  murmur  of  approval. 

"She  must  be,  dear!  I  am  sure  she  must  be 
and  I'm  sure  she'll  like  Antony  when  she  knows 
him  better.  I  hope  we  shall  soon  meet  your  par- 
ents. It  was  through  your  brother  that  you  met, 
was  it  not?  An  old  school  friend.  At  Henley?" 

"Yes,  Henley.  Yes,  Phil!  Please  don't  ask 
me  about  it!  The  whole  thing  was  such  a  rush. 
Only  three  days!  It  seems  like  a  dream.  I — I 
forget  everything  but  the  one  great  fact!"  cried 
Juliet,  taking  refuge  in  truth,  and  thereby  winning 
smiles  of  approval  from  her  old-fashioned  hearers, 
who  considered  such  confusion  suitable  and  becom- 
ing. They  beamed  upon  her,  and  Juliet  began  to 
feel  the  dawnings  of  pride  in  her  own  diplomacy. 
She  was  getting  on  well;  surprisingly  well!  She 
allowed  herself  to  believe  that  Alice  White  could 
have  done  no  better. 

"Three  days,  eh?"  repeated  the  Squire  com- 
placently. "Bowled  him  over  in  three  days,  did 
you,  after  being  bullet-proof  all  these  years !  How 
in  the  world  did  you  manage  to  do  it?" 

"I    can't  think!'"   declared   Juliet,  truthfully 


82  What  a  Man  Wills 

again,  but  she  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  showed  a 
dimple,  and  dropped  her  eyelids,  so  that  the  dark 
lashes  rested  on  the  pink  of  her  cheeks,  whereat 
the  young  man  looked  more  embarrassed  than 
ever,  and  the  old  one  laughed  till  he  choked,  and 
offered  her  more  cake,  and  called  her  "my  dear" 
twice  over  in  a  single  sentence,  and  delivered 
himself  of  the  opinion  that  Antony  was  a  lucky 
dog. 

"Doesn't  deserve  it,  after  all  his  slackness  and 
procrastination!  Let's  hope  he'll  appreciate  his 
good  luck.  But  what's  this  nonsense  about  wait- 
ing two  years?  What's  this  nonsense  about  not 
going  back  with  him  at  once?" 

Juliet  looked  as  she  felt,  flustered,  and  taken 
aback. 

"It's  so — sudden!"  she  pleaded,  and  blushed  as 
she  said  the  word.  "  I — I  don't  approve  of  marry- 
ing in  a  rush.  Only  two  months  before  he  sails. 
Suppose  he  regretted  it?  S — suppose  he  changed 
his  mind?" 

"It's  for  him  to  answer  that  question!  Speak 
up,  Antony !  Are  you  likely  to  change  your  mind? 
Do  you  feel  any  inclination  to  give  up  Miss  Clare 
now  that  you  have  got  her  to  promise  to  take  you 
for  better  for  worse?" 

"I'm  not  given  to  changing  my  mind,  sir," 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    £3 

Antony  said,  discreetly  answering  the  last  question 
but  one.  He  rose  hastily  as  he  spoke,  evidently 
afraid  lest  his  turn  of  cross-questioning  was  about 
to  begin,  and  said  hurriedly :  "  Clare  is  tired,  Uncle. 
She'll  answer  all  your  questions  later  on.  I'm 
going  to  take  her  into  the  garden  for  a  little  fresh 
air,  and  then  send  her  upstairs  to  rest. " 

So  for  the  next  half- hour  Antony  Maplestone 
and  Juliet,  alias  Alice,  Clare,  sat  in  a  rose-shaded 
arbour,  and  discussed  the  plan  of  attack.  There 
was  so  much  to  be  settled.  It  was  like  making  up 
a  play,  and  coaching  each  other  in  the  leading  parts. 
Juliet  was  inclined  to  give  herself  airs  on  the  suc- 
cess of  her  first  scene,  and  discovered  with  surprise 
that  her  companion  vouchsafed  only  a  mitigated 
admiration. 

"You  must  be  very  used  to  it!"  he  said  grudg- 
ingly whereupon  Juliet  bridled,  and  declared: 

"I'm  not!  It's  the  very  first  case  I've  had, 
when  .  .  .  All  my  experiences  so  far,  have 
been  strictly  business-like.  I  think  you  might 
give  me  some  encouragement.  I  thought  I  was 
so  clever!" 

"You  were,  you  were!  Uncommonly  clever, 
and  I  felt  all  sorts  of  a  fool.  I'm  not  used  to  play- 
ing a  part,  and  it  comes  harder  than  I  expected. 
It's  a  comfort  to  escape  and  feel  that  we  can  talk 


84  What  a  Man  Wills 

openly  together!"  He  stretched  his  arms,  and 
drew  a  big  sigh  of  relief.  Juliet  sighed  too,  but 
not  for  the  same  reason. 

"I  think  it  might  be  a  wise  precaution,"  she 
said  presently,  "if  I  sent  my  parents  abroad  to 
travel  for  several  months !  Mrs.  Maplestone  spoke 
of  wishing  to  see  them,  and  it  would  be  awkward 
to  produce  a  suitable  pair  at  a  moment's  notice. 
And  dangerous !  Think  of  the  pitfalls  that  would 
yawn  before  us  over  reminiscences  of  childhood? 
Perhaps  they'd  better  go  for  health !  That  would 
explain  their  leaving  home  just  at  this  time.  We 
must  send  them  to  a  foreign  spa  for  a  six- weeks' 
course.  Where  shall  they  go?" 

"Marienbad,"  Antony  said  promptly,  whereon 
Juliet  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  and  put  on  an 
air  of  offence. 

"No  aspersions,  if  you  please.  My  parents 
are  thin!  It  shall  be  rheumatism,  I  think. 
That's  quite  ordinary  and  eminently  respectable. 
They  might  both  have  it,  if  it  comes  to  that. " 

But  Antony  objected. 

"No.  Not  both!  That's  too  drastic.  My 
uncle  would  certainly  object  that  you  would  in- 
herit a  tendency.  Only  your  father!  A  recent 
attack.  ..." 

"Just  so;  and  they  are  anxious  to  take  it  in  time. 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    85 

Mother  goes  with  him,  as  they  are  a  devoted  couple 
and  couldn't  endure  to  be  parted  for  six  weeks. 
Mud  baths,  I  think.  There's  such  a  sound  of  veri- 
similitude about  mud  baths!  I  think  we  must 
really  decide  on  mud  baths." 

"Poor  beggar,  yes!  I'm  afraid  there's  no  help 
for  him.  Where  are  they,  by  the  way?  I've  no 
idea.  Have  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.  They  are  in  Germany  somewhere. 
Or  is  it  Italy?  Somewhere  about  that  part  of 
the  world,"  Juliet  said  vaguely,  whereupon  An- 
tony took  out  his  pocket-book  and  wrote  down  a 
memorandum. 

"A  dutiful  daughter  ought  to  have  her  parents' 
address!  I'll  find  that  out  before  dinner.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  don't  think  my  uncle  will  trouble 
his  head  about  your  relations.  There  would  have 
been  the  dickens  to  pay  if  he  had  not  approved  of 
you,  but  he  was  quite  unusually  amiable,  took  to 
you  at  first  sight,  and  the  aunt  too.  It  went  off 
far  better  than  I  expected." 

"Just  let  me  be  quite  clear  on  one  point,"  Juliet 
demanded.  "Am  I  nice,  and  amiable,  and  meek, 
or  am  I  dashing  and  sportive?" 

"Neither  one  nor  the  other,  a  useful  blend. 
Don't  worry  about  that.  You  are  perfectly  all 
right  as  you  are." 


86  What  a  Man  Wills 

"And — just  as  a  guide  for  moments  of  expan- 
sion— might  it  be  'Tony'?" 

"Tony  it  must  be.  Most  decidedly  Tony." 
His  voice  was  brisk  with  decision.  The  brown 
eyes  brightened  in  anticipation.  "Perhaps  even 
occasionally,  'Dear." 

"Oh,  no!"  Juliet  shook  her  head  obstinately. 
"No  'dears'!  I've  been  strictly  brought  up. 
I'm  shy.  No  demonstrations  in  public.  I've  no 
brothers,  you  see,  and  have  led  a  secluded  life. " 

"Yes,  yes,  there's  Phil;  you  must  remember 
Phil.  It  was  your  brother  Phil  who  introduced  us 
at  Henley.  You  were  staying  with  friends. " 

"I  have  friends  near  Henley.  Their  name  is 
Jones.  Can  you  remember  Jones?  Mr.  Jones, 
solicitor;  Mrs.  Jones;  Miss  Jones;  Miss  Florence 
Jones;  Mr.  Reginald  Jones,  son,  junior  partner." 

"Just  so.  Reginald,  of  course,  is  Philip's 
friend.  Phil  is,  like  myself,  home  on  leave.  That 
simplifies  things  for  you.  By  the  by,  he  is  in 
China,  in  the  Customs." 

"Poor  dear  Philip;  with  all  these  horrid  riots. 
I  do  feel  anxious  about  him!"  sighed  naughty 
Juliet  in  response;  then,  suddenly,  "I  wonder," 
she  had  cried  soberly,  "if  I  ought!  I  hate  to  de- 
ceive people,  even  for  their  own  good.  I  wonder 
if  I  ought  to  go  on. " 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    &7 

"But  surely" — he  stared  at  her  in  amazement— 
"it's  your  profession!  It  would  be  impossible 
to  do  inquiry  work  if  people  knew  from  the  begin- 
ning what  you  were  about.  Why  did  you — excuse 
me — choose  such  a  profession  if  your  conscience 
is  so  tender?" 

"I — I  didn't  realize.  It  was  arranged  in  a 
hurry.  I  don't  think  I  shall  take  any  more  cases. " 

"No,  don't!"  Antony  cried  eagerly.  "It's 
all  right  this  time,  for  you  have  fallen  among 
people  who  will  treat  you  properly,  but  it  might  be 
so  different.  Haven't  you  a  home  where  you  can 
live  safely  and  comfortably?" 

"Very  comfortably  indeed,  but  I  happen  to  be 
one  of  the  horde  of  superfluous  women  who  need 
something  more  than  comfort. " 

Antony  looked  at  her  curiously  at  that,  but  he 
had  asked  no  questions.  Juliet  was  thankful  for 
his  silence ;  for  the  absence  of  obvious  compliments. 
The  situation  would  be  intolerable  with  a  man  of 
another  type.  With  Maplestone  one  had  a  com- 
fortable feeling  of  security — a  very  comfortable 
feeling.  Juliet  fell  asleep  that  night  with  a  smile 
on  her  lips. 

For  three  days  all  went  well,  the  Squire  approv- 
ing, his  wife  motherly,  Antony  chivalrous  and 


88  What  a  Man  Wills 

attentive.  Whatever  the  real  experience  might  be, 
Juliet  was  satisfied  that  pretending  to  be  engaged 
was  an  agreeable  sensation.  Morning  and  after- 
noon Antony  drove  her  abroad,  sat  with  her  in  the 
rose  garden,  or  escorted  her  on  long  walks  over  the 
countryside,  and  soon,  wonderfully  soon,  there 
was  no  further  need  of  coaching  between  them,  for 
the  lives  of  each,  and  the  experiences  thereof,  the 
hopes,  aspirations,  and  rebuffs,  had  been  spread  as 
in  an  opened  book  before  the  eyes  of  the  other,  with 
just  one  reservation  on  Juliet's  side,  the  disclosure 
of  her  own  identity ! 

' '  I  have  had  an  adventurous  life.  The  one  thing 
I  have  not  had  to  complain  of  is  monotony," 
said  Antony. 

"And  I  have  had  nothing  else.  Until  recently 
I  have  gone  on,  year  after  year,  existing,  not  livingj 
in  the  same  little  rut. " 

"No  wonder  you  broke  loose.  A  girl  like  you 
was  never  made  for  stagnation.  You  ought  to 
travel:  to  see  the  world.  I  never  met  a  woman 
with  so  keen  an  appreciation  of  beauty.  Gad! 
how  you  would  enjoy  India,  and  the  scenery 
we  have  over  there.  Last  year  we  were  sta- 
tioned in  the  north,  above  Darjeeling.  I'd  like 
to  blindfold  you,  and  take  you  to  a  spot  I  know, 
and  then  take  off  the  bandage,  and  show  you — the 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    89 

snows!  That  would  be  a  moment  worth  living 
for." 

"Ah,  yes.  Unfortunately,  however,  the  climate 
of  India  is  prejudicial  to  my  health,"  Juliet  re- 
minded him  primly. 

"Oh,  hang  the  climate  of  India!"  cried  Antony 
Maplestone. 

The  Squire  also  was  inclined  to  "hang"  the 
Indian  climate  in  its  bearing  upon  the  health  of  his 
guest.  He  cross-questioned  his  prospective  niece 
upon  the  subject  with  increasing  irritability. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  health?  You 
look  strong  enough.  Can't  have  a  liver  with  that 
complexion.  Can't  have  a  heart,  rushing  about 
all  day  long.  Given  it  away,  eh,  what?  Antony, 
what's  wrong  with  her  heart?" 

"Nothing,  sir.  It's  a  tip- top  heart ;  in  first-class 
working  condition." 

"What's  wrong,  then — what's  wrong?  Nothing 
but  nerves  and  nonsense.  If  I  were  a  young  man 
and  my  fiancee  didn't  care  enough  about  me  to 
face  a  bit  of  discomfort,  I'd — I'd  comfort  myself 
with  the  first  nice  girl  that  would  !  If  you  let  him 
go  off  to  India  alone,  young  lady,  you'll  have 
yourself  to  thank  if  you  are  left  in  the  lurch. " 

Juliet  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  pretended 
to  cry.  It  was  a  comfort  to  be  able  to  hide  one's 


90  What  a  Man  Wills 

face,  and  besides,  just  between  herself  and  the 
handkerchief  there  was  a  tear.  She  would  be 
left  in  the  lurch,  and,  oh,  my  goodness,  how  dull  it 
would  be ! 

From  the  end  of  the  room  sounded  three 
separate  gasps  of  consternation. 

' '  Leave  her  alone,  uncle !  It's  my  affair.  Clare, 
don't  cry !" 

"He  doesn't  mean  it,  dear;  he  doesn't  mean  it. 
Antony  never  would. " 

"Kiss  her,  you  stupid  fellow,  kiss  her!  What's 
the  use  of  glowering  there?" 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  a  thrilling  silence,  Juliet 
felt  strong  arms  enfold  her,  felt  the  sweep  of  a 
moustache  against  her  cheek.  It  was  the  first, 
the  very  first  time  in  the  course  of  her  twenty-six 
years  that  any  man  but  a  blood  relation  had  offered 
her  a  caress,  and — she  liked  the  sensation!  She 
felt  a  horrible,  horrible  inclination  to  abandon  her- 
self to  that  strong  support;  to  lift  her  own  lips  to 
meet  his.  The  rebound  from  the  temptation  gave 
energy  to  the  gesture  with  which  she  pushed  him 
away  and  leaped,  flaming,  to  her  feet. 

"It's  my  own  heart,  and  I  know  best  what  it 
can  stand!  And — and — there  are  snakes — and 
rats — and  insects,  crawly-creepy  things  dropping 
from  the  ceilings!  He  can  have  anyone  he 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    91 

likes.  .  .  I  don't  care.  .  .  I  don't  want  him. 
I'll  stay  at  home!"  She  dashed  wildly  from  the 
room. 

Antony  and  his  aunt  stared  blankly  at  each 
other.  The  Squire  chuckled  complacently  and 
rubbed  his  hands. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  cried  cheerily.  "That's 
done  it.  She'll  go  with  you,  my  boy.  She'll  go 
all  right.  Book  a  second  passage  to-morrow,  and 
I'll  stand  the  risk. " 

At  dinner  that  night  there  was  an  air  of  festival. 
The  feast  was  sumptuous,  the  table  was  decorated 
with  exquisite  hothouse  flowers,  purely,  spotlessly 
white — a  bridal  white,  unmistakable  in  its  signifi- 
cance. Juliet  blushed  as  she  beheld  that  table,  and 
blushed  again  looking  down  on  her  own  white  robe. 
Upstairs  in  her  own  room  she  had  cried,  and 
stormed,  and  blushed,  and  trembled,  and  vowed 
fiercely  to  leave  the  house  by  the  first  train  on  the 
following  morning,  and  sobbed  again  at  the  thought 
of  departure.  Also,  she  had  vowed  with  fervour  to 
be  cold  as  ice  to  Antony  Maplestone,  and  to  prove 
to  him  by  the  haughtiness  of  her  demeanour  that 
his  caress  was  unpardonable,  without  excuse.  And 
then,  being  a  woman,  and  a  particularly  feminine 
one  at  that,  she  had  naturally  selected  her  very 


92  What  a  Man  Wills 

best  dress,  and  had  arrayed  herself  therein  for  his 
delectation. 

Now  what  bad  luck  that  the  dress  happened  to 
be  white! 

The  Squire  over-ate  himself  recklessly.  "Hang 
it  all,  my  dear,"  he  informed  his  protesting 
wife,  "a  man  can't  always  be  thinking  of  diet. 
There  are  occasions — "  He  nodded  meaningly 
towards  his  guest,  and  quaffed  a  bumper  of 
champagne. 

After  dinner,  when  the  pseudo-lovers  were 
left  alone  for  the  nightly  tete-a-tete,  the  subject  of 
the  Squire's  indiscretion  was  eagerly  seized  upon  as 
a  subject  for  conversation,  to  lessen  the  embarrass- 
ment from  which  both  were  suffering. 

Said  Antony,  "It's  madness.  He  has  not  yet 
recovered  from  the  last  attack.  One  would  think 
that  a  man  who  has  suffered  such  agonies  would 
have  learned  wisdom!" 

Said  Juliet  gloomily,  "Who  does?  Nobody 
does!  It  certainly  doesn't  become  us  to — er — " 

"Oh,  well,"  he  interrupted  quickly,  "let's  hope 
he  escapes  this  time.  It's  hard  on  a  man  to  be 
everlastingly  prudent.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
the  greatest  wisdom  does  not  exist  in  occasionally 
breaking  loose!" 

Juliet    faced    him,    erect    and    dignified.     She 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    93 

had  scented  a  personal  application  in  his  words, 
and  was  determined  to  stand  no  nonsense. 

"Mr.  Maplestone,  I  have  been  here  four  days; 
it  seems  to  me  inadvisable  to  stay  any  longer. 
To-morrow  morning  I  propose  to  receive  a  tele- 
gram summoning  me  home.  I  should  be  obliged  if 
you  could  make  it  convenient  to  be  out  after  eleven 
o'clock.  It  would  make  it  easier  for  me  to  get 
away." 

There  was  consternation  in  his  glance;  more  than 
consternation — dismay . 

"Go!  Why  on  earth  should  you  go?  Is  it  the 
office!  Do  they  want  you  back  at  the  office? 
Let  me  write.  Surely  if  I  write  and  say " 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  no  office.  It's  a 
mistake.  I — I  am  not  what  I  seem!"  cried  Juliet, 
with  a  touch  of  melodrama,  born  of  desperation. 
Not  another  moment  could  she  stand  the  deception; 
not  another  moment  could  she  masquerade  under 
another  woman's  name.  "I  am  not  an  inquiry 
agent.  Never  was.  Never  will  be.  It  was  just — 
just " 

"Sit  down.  Sit  down.  Take  your  own  time. 
Tell  me  all  about  it."  Antony  pushed  a  deep- 
cushioned  chair  towards  her,  seated  himself  near 
at  hand,  leaned  forward,  gazing  into  her  eyes. 
There  was  no  consternation  on  his  face  this  time; 


94  What  a  Man  Wills 

no  dismay;  nothing  but  happiest  relief.  "If  you 
only  knew  how  thankful  I  am !  I  hated  the  thought 
of  such  work  for  you.  Now — tell  me!" 

And  Juliet  told  him.  Told  him  how,  among  a 
party  of  friends,  she  had  avowed  her  yearning  for 
adventure,  and  had  been  bidden  to  hold  fast  to  the 
thought,  and  await  an  opportunity.  All  things, 
she  was  told,  come  in  good  time  to  those  who  wait. 
And  she  had  waited;  through  long,  monotonous, 
uneventful  months  she  had  waited,  and  waited  in 
vain.  And  then,  suddenly,  a  chance,  an  opening — 
a  possibility  which  must  be  taken,  or  left,  while  a 
moment  ticked  away  its  course!  She  told  of  the 
dead  girl  whose  place  she  had  taken,  honestly  de- 
termining to  do  her  best,  and  allow  no  one  to  suffer 
through  the  exchange. 

"If  it  had  been  work  of  which  I  was  incapable 
I  should  have  left  at  once.  You  believe  it,  don't 
you?  You  do  believe  it?" 

Antony  seemed  to  ignore  the  question  as  beneath 
his  notice.  Something  infinitely  more  important 
was  occupying  his  mind. 

"Then,  what  is  your  real  name?" 

"Juliet!  All  that  I  have  told'you  of  my  people 
is  true.  Everything  is  true,  but  the  name  and  the 
work.  Perhaps,  in  time  to  come,  you  might  ex- 
plain to  your  uncle  that  Clare  Lawson  was  just  a 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    95 

professional  name  which  I  adopted  when  I  tried 
to  take  up  work.  It  is  quite  usual.  Many  women 
doit." 

"Juliet!"  he  repeated  softly.  From  his  manner 
he  appeared  to  have  heard  only  her  name.  "Juliet! 
It's  perfect.  A  name  that  suits  you  above  all 
others.  Of  course  you  are  Juliet.  I  was  a  fool  not 
to  know  that  before.  Juliet,  I  am  so  glad  you  are 
not  Clare!" 

"I'm  not  Clare,  and  I'm  not  Alice.  It's  a — a 
joke  in  two  moves,  but  it  is  time  it  should  come  to 
an  end.  To-morrow  I  must  go. " 

"You  must  not  go.  It's  madness!  Is  it  be- 
cause of — of  what  happened  to-day?  It  need 
never  happen  again.  I  was  dreadfully  sorry. 
I  would  not  for  the  world " 

"Of  course,  of  course.  I  quite  understand. 
You  were  driven  to  it.  It  was  as  disagreeable  to  you 
as  to  me,"  Juliet  said  sourly.  She  felt  sour;  more 
ruffled  by  the  explanation  than  she  had  been  by  the 
offence  itself. 

What  would  have  happened  next  there  is  no 
saying,  but  at  that  moment  the  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Maplestone  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
Uncle  Godfrey  was  in  pain.  He  wished  to  go 
to  bed.  Would  Tony  come  and  give  him  an 
arm? 


96  What  a  Man  Wills 

Retribution  sure  and  swift  fell  upon  the  Squire. 
All  night  long  he  tossed  in  pain,  and  in  the  early 
morn  the  doctor  was  summoned,  who  delivered 
himself  of  a  gloomy  verdict:  Serious.  One  bad 
attack  following  hard  on  the  top  of  another.  The 
patient  had  been  warned,  and  the  patient  had 
transgressed.  The  patient's  heart  was  not  in  a 
condition  to  stand  these  repeated  strains.  The 
patient  must  have  a  nurse.  Must  be  kept  quiet. 
The  patient  must  be  safeguarded  against  irritation 
and  strain.  Excitement  at  this  juncture  might 
have  serious  effects. 

Then  the  doctor  drove  away,  and  the  patient, 
who  was  to  be  kept  quiet,  proceeded  to  work  him- 
self into  a  condition  of  fuss  and  antagonism  against 
every  separate  member  of  the  household,  and  in 
especial  against  Antony,  his  heir.  It  was  Antony's 
fault  that  he  was  laid  low;  the  contrariety  of 
Antony  which  had  ruined  his  health;  and  now  he 
lay  at  death's  door  (he  was  at  death's  door;  he 
chose  to  lie  at  death's  door!  It  was  his  own  busi- 
ness, he  supposed,  at  whose  door  he  should  lie?); 
now,  even  at  this  last  moment,  Antony  delayed, 
prevaricated,  shilly-shallied,  talked  calmly  of 
waiting  a  couple  of  years!  It  was  not  the  girl's 
fault.  The  girl  was  willing  enough.  She  was 
making  a  pretence  of  unwillingness.  All  girls 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    97 

made  a  pretence.  Let  Antony  stand  up  to  her  like 
a  man,  and  she  would  give  in;  be  glad  to  give  in. 
Summon  Antony!  Summon  the  girl!  Let  them 
be  brought  before  him.  Let  this  matter  be  settled 
once  for  all ! 

Trembling,  Mrs.  Maplestone  obeyed  his  orders. 
Trembling,  Juliet  obeyed,  and  stood  beside  the 
patient's  bed.  Antony  was  not  trembling,  but  his 
cheek  was  pale.  Crimson  cheeked,  bright  of  eye, 
the  patient  made  his  pronouncement:  He  had 
waited  long  enough;  he  could  wait  no  longer; 
within  the  next  few  days  he  intended  to  die — pro- 
bably to-morrow,  or  the  day  after;  but  before  he 
died  he  wished  to  see  his  heir  married  to  the  woman 
of  his  choice.  Send  instantly  for  a  priest! 

"My  dear  uncle,"  Antony  protested,  "the 
thing's  impossible.  Even  if — even  if —  There  are 
preliminaries.  Banns.  Licences.  It  is  a  case 
of  weeks;  of  several  weeks " 

But  the  Squire  knew  better.  There  were  such 
things  as  special  licences.  When  money  was  no 
object,  when  life  and  death  hung  in  the  balance, 
mountains  had  been,  mountains  could  again  be, 
removed.  With  a  shaking  hand  he  beckoned  Juliet 
to  his  side,  and  levied  a  shocking  question: 

"Girl,  do  you  wish  to  kill  me?" 

"You  don't  understand,  you  don't  understand ! " 


98  What  a  Man  Wills 

wailed  the  unhappy  girl.  "  Dear  Mr.  Maplestone, 
try  to  be  quiet;  try  not  to  worry  about  us.  Only 
get  better,  and  then — then " 

"I  shall  never  get  better, "  reiterated  the  Squire. 
His  small  bright  eyes  glittered  with  a  sudden  sus- 
picion. "Is  he  playing  with  you?  Playing  fast 
and  loose,  to  suit  his  own  convenience?  Has  he 
been  unkind  to  you,  cold,  disappointing?  Are  you 
tired  already  of  the  fellow?" 

"Oh,  no,  oh,  no,  you  don't  understand!  Dear 
Mr.  Maplestone,  do  leave  it  until  you  are  stronger." 

The  crimson  of  the  Squire's  cheeks  turned  to  a 
deeper  hue,  a  spasm  of  pain  contorted  his  lips,  his 
eyes  rolled,  closed,  opened  again,  and  turned  with  a 
dreadful  intensity  upon  his  nephew. 

"I'm  dying!"  he  cried.  "You  are  killing  me 
between  you.  A ntony  I ' ' 

Then  Antony  stepped  forward  and  took  Juliet  by 
the  hands.  White  to  the  lips  was  he,  but  there  was 
no  flinching  in  his  eyes,  no  tremor  in  the  tone  of 
his  strong  voice. 

"My  darling,"  said  Antony,  "will  you  marry 
me  this  week?  As  God  is  my  witness,  it  is  my  dear- 
est wish.  As  God  is  my  witness,  I  will  make  you 
happy. " 

At  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed  Mrs.  Maplestone 
subsided  helplessly  into  tears.  Writhing,  gasping 


Girl  Who  Wished  for  Adventure    99 

in  pain,  the  Squire  muttered  to  himself,  "What  a 
fuss  to  make !  What  a  fuss  about  nothing ! " 

To  Juliet,  as  to  Antony,  they  might  have  been  at 
the  other  side  of  the  world.  They  had  ceased  to 
exist.  He  stood,  drawn  up  to  his  full  height,  gaz- 
ing down  into  her  face.  She  looked  up,  looked 
deep,  deep  into  the  steady  brown  eyes,  and  read 
therein  what  she  most  longed  to  see. 

"Yes,  Tony,  I  will.  The  sooner  the  better," 
answered  Juliet.  And,  so  saying,  started  trust- 
fully upon  life's  greatest  adventure. 


IV 

THE  MAN  WHO   WAITED   FOR  LOVE 

BEHIND  his  tired  eyes  and  general  affectation  of 
indifference  Rupert  Dempster  hid  an  overwhelming 
ambition.  He  longed  for  love — not  for  the  ordi- 
nary springtide  passion  experienced  by  ninety- 
nine  men  out  of  a  hundred;  nor  for  the  ordinary 
"  living-prosaically-ever-af  ter  "  which  is  the  ulti- 
mate sequel  to  such  affairs.  The  desire  of  his 
heart  was  for  the  experience  of  the  hundredth  man, 
— an  experience  as  far  distinguished  from  the 
amours  of  the  ninety-nine,  as  is  the  romance  of  the 
suburban  Algernon  and  Angelina,  from  the  his- 
toric passion  of  a  Dante  and  Beatrice.  Rupert 
searched  not  so  much  for  a  wife  as  for  a  mate,  a 
woman  who  should  be  so  completely  the  comple- 
ment of  himself  that  to  meet  would  be  to  recognize, 
and  after  recognition  life  apart  would  become  an 
impossibility  and  a  farce.  In  his  own  mind  the 
conviction  remained  unshaken  that  the  day  would 
dawn  when  he  should  meet  this  dearer  self,  and 

100 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  101 

enter  into  a  completeness  of  joy  which  would  end 
but  with  life  itself.  Yet  the  years  passed  by,  and 
his  thirty-fifth  birthday  came  and  went,  and 
found  him  no  nearer  his  goal.  Once  and  again  as 
the  years  passed  by,  Rupert  awoke,  breathless  and 
panting,  from  a  dream,  the  same  dream,  wherein 
he  had  met  his  love,  and  they  had  spoken  together. 
The  details  of  the  dream  seemed  instantly  to  fade 
from  his  mind,  leaving  behind  an  impression  of 
mingled  joy  and  pain.  She  had  been  beautiful 
and  sweet;  he  had  been  proud  and  glad,  yet  there 
had  been  a  shadow.  It  had  not  been  all  joy  that 
he  had  felt  as  he  had  welcomed  the  well-beloved; 
his  emotion  on  awaking  had  been  tinged  with 
something  strangely  resembling  fear.  But  the 
dream-face  had  been  fair.  His  longing  to  meet  it 
was  but  whetted  by  the  consciousness  of  mystery. 

He  met  her  at  last  at  a  garden-party  and  gained 
an  introduction  by  accident.  "Do  find  Lady 
Belcher,  and  bring  her  to  have  some  tea,"  his 
hostess  bade  him,  and  supplemented  her  request 
with  a  brief  description:  "A  tall,  dark  woman, 
dressed  in  yellow.  She  was  on  that  bench  a  few 
minutes  ago.  Anyone  will  tell  you!  ..." 

Rupert  crossed  the  lawn  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated; he  was  in  the  mood  of  resigned  boredom 
which  possesses  most  men  at  a  garden-party,  and 


102  What  a  Man  Wills 

for  the  moment  the  Dream  Woman  had  no  place  in 
his  thoughts.  Lady  Belcher  was  plainly  a  guest 
of  importance,  for  whose  refreshment  the  hostess 
felt  herself  responsible.  She  was  probably  elderly, 
and,  as  such,  uninteresting  from  a  young  man's 
standpoint.  He  looked  for  the  gleam  of  a  yellow 
dress,  caught  it  defined  sharply  among  the  sur- 
rounding blues  and  pinks,  and  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  seat. 

"Lady  Belcher,  I  think?  Mrs.  Melhuish  has 
sent  me  to  ask  you  if  you  will  have  some  tea?" 

Lady  Belcher  was  talking  volubly  to  an  ac- 
quaintance on  the  subject  of  the  shortcomings  of 
her  friends,  and  was  much  bored  by  the  interrup- 
tion. She  lifted  a  face  like  an  elderly  rocking- 
horse,  and  made  short  work  of  the  invitation. 

"Thanks!  Couldn't  possibly.  I  abhor  tea," 
she  said  curtly,  and  immediately  resumed  the 
interrupted  conversation. 

Dempster  turned,  faintly  smiling.  He  was  ac- 
customed to  the  rudeness  of  the  modern  society 
woman,  and  it  had  no  power  to  hurt  him.  On  the 
contrary,  he  congratulated  himself  on  having  es- 
caped an  unwelcome  task.  He  turned  aside  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  even  as  he  turned,  the  ordered 
beating  of  his  heart  seemed  for  a  moment  to  cease, 
and  leave  his  being  suspended  in  space.  Cut 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  103 

sharply  in  twain,  as  by  the  sweep  of  a  scythe,  the 
old  life  fell  from  him  and  the  new  life  began,  for 
there,  but  a  couple  of  yards  away,  stood  the  Dream 
Woman,  her  eyes  gazing  steadily  into  his! 

She  was  a  tall,  slim  woman,  no  longer  in  her  first 
youth,  but  her  face  had  a  strange,  arresting  beauty. 
Hair  and  eyes  were  dark,  and  there  was  something 
curiously  un-English  in  the  modelling  of  the 
features,  something  subtly  suggestive  of  a  fiercer, 
more  primal  race.  So  might  a  woman  have  looked 
whose  far-off  ancestor  had  been  an  Indian  brave, 
bequeathing  to  future  generations  some  spark  of 
his  own  wild  vigour.  The  lips  were  scarlet,  a  thin, 
curved  line  in  the  pallor  of  her  face ;  her  eyes  were 
fringed  with  black,  straight  lashes.  She  wore  a 
gown  of  cloudy  black,  and  there  came  to  Rupert, 
with  a  cramping  of  the  heart,  the  swift  conviction 
that  she  was  unhappy. 

She  was  looking  at  him,  half  frowning,  half 
smiling,  having,  it  would  appear,  overheard  his 
invitation  and  its  rebuff;  but  as  his  face  came  more 
clearly  into  view  a  look  of  bewilderment  overspread 
her  features.  She  started,  and  involuntarily  bent 
her  head  in  salutation. 

The  next  moment  Rupert  was  by  her  side,  and 
her  hand  lay  in  his.  He  had  extended  his  own, 
and  hers  had  come  to  meet  it  without  hesitation. 


104  What  a  Man  Wills 

For  a  long  moment  they  looked  at  one  another  in 
silence,  then  he  spoke  in  commonplace  greeting: 

"Good  afternoon.     Can  I  get  you  some  tea?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  at  the  same  time  took 
a  slow  step  forward,  which  had  the  effect  of  turning 
the  refusal  into  an  invitation. 

"  I'm  so  tired ;  I  don't  want  anything,  but  a  seat ; 
away  from  that  band!" 

"Come  this  way.  There's  a  summer-house  at 
the  end  of  the  shrubbery  that  is  probably  empty. 
No  one  knows  of  it  but  the  intimates.  You  can 
rest  there  quietly." 

He  spoke  eagerly,  walking  beside  her,  eager  to 
lead  her  away  from  the  crowd,  and  have  her  to 
himself.  The  group  of  visitors  among  whom  she 
had  been  standing  stared  after  them  curiously,  and 
one  elderly,  stout  woman  took  a  tentative  step 
forward,  as  if  about  to  follow,  thought  better  of  it, 
and  stood  aside.  Dempster  had  a  fleeting  sus- 
picion of  sharp  eyes  scanning  his  face;  then  he 
forgot  everything  but  his  companion.  He  was 
conscious  of  every  movement,  of  every  curve  of 
the  slim,  graceful  figure,  but  no  word  was  spoken 
until  they  seated  themselves  within  the  shelter  of 
the  arbour,  and  faced  each  other  across  its  narrow 
span.  Was  it  the  shadow  of  the  trailing  branches 
which  made  her  face  so  white?  She  narrowed  her 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  105 

eyes,  as  if  searching  in  the  store- room  of  memory, 
and  a  faint  smile  curved  her  lips.  Once  again  the 
pain  cramped  Rupert's  heart  as  he  realized  that 
smiles  came  but  hardly  to  her  lips.  A  note  of 
interrogation  quickened  her  voice: 

"I  know  you  so  well.  .  .  We  have  met 
before?" 

He  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees,  chin  cupped 
between  finger  and  thumb,  tired  eyes  aglow  with 
life. 

"Yes!" 

"When?    Where?" 

"Always!"  he  told  her.     "In  our  dreams." 

She  shrank  at  that,  edging  back  into  her  corner, 
holding  out  a  quick,  protesting  hand.  "No! 
Please!  Don't  make  fun.  .  .  We  have  met 
on  more  substantial  ground.  I  know  your  face. 
I  knew  it  the  moment  you  turned.  We  have  met 
years  ago,  and  have  forgotten "  * 

Rupert  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  riveted  upon  her 
face.  ' '  Think ! "  he  urged  softly.  ' '  Think !  Ask 
your  own  heart,  and  let  it  answer.  It  spoke  clearly 
enough  a  minute  ago.  You  have  always  known 
me !  You  have  been  waiting,  as  I  have  been  wait- 
ing. It  has  been  long,  and  we  are  both  tired,  but 
now  it  is  over,  and  we  can  forget.  Our  summer  has 
begun!"  He  stretched  out  his  hand  towards  her. 


106  What  a  Man  Wills 

"I've  been  keeping  myself  for  you.  From  this 
moment  I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  have.  The 
world  would  call  me  crazy  to  make  such  a  vow  to  a 
woman  I  have  known  in  the  flesh  for  only  a  few 
minutes,  but  you  understand!  You  know  that  it 
is  the  simple,  absolute  truth.  Give  me  your 
hand!" 

Like  a  homing-bird  the  small  hand  fluttered  and 
fell,  nestling  softly  against  his  own.  He  pressed 
his  lips  to  it  in  a  long,  sacramental  kiss,  then  raised 
himself  to  look  into  her  eyes.  "What  is  your 
name?" 

"Eve.    And  yours?" 

"Rupert.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  Eve.  The 
first  woman;  the  only  woman.  No  other  name 
could  have  fitted  you  so  well.  Eve!  look  in  my 
eyes,  and  answer  what  I  ask.  Do  you  trust  me, 
Eve?  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  speaking  the 
truth?" 

White  as  a  dead  woman,  she  faced  him  across 
the  shadow;  the  scarlet  of  her  lips  was  like  a  stain 
of  blood,  but  as  she  gazed  her  face  quivered  into 
an  inexpressible  tenderness,  for  on  Rupert  Demp- 
ster's features  nature  had  printed  the  hall-mark 
of  truth,  and  no  one  had  yet  looked  into  his  eyes 
and  doubted  his  word.  The  Dream  Woman 
accepted  it  so  simply  that  she  did  not  trouble  to 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   107 

answer  his  question.  "I  am  not  worth  it,"  she 
said  instead;  "I  am  too  old;  too  sad.  It  ought 
to  have  been  a  lovely,  radiant  girl  who  could  have 
given  you  her  youth." 

"I  have  thought  of  her  like  that,"  he  answered 
simply,  "but  I  see  now  that  it  could  not  have  been. 
I  needed  more.  She  could  not  have  satisfied  me, 
if  she  had  not  suffered.  I  should  have  missed 
the  greatest  joy  of  all,  if  she  had  not  needed  my 
comfort. " 

"I  wish  I  were  beautiful!"  she  sighed  again. 
"She  should  have  been  beautiful  to  be  worthy  of 
you.  I  wish  I  were  beautiful!" 

"Are  you  not  beautiful?"  he  asked  her.  "It is 
strange ;  I  had  thought  so  much  of  how  you  would 
look,  but  when  our  eyes  met  I  forgot  all  that.  We 
belong;  that  is  everything.  The  beginning  and 
the  end.  You  are  Eve. " 

"Ah,  you  are  good!"  she  sighed.  "You  are 
good!  I  did  not  know  there  were  such  men  in 
the  world.  .  .  It  is  true,  Rupert.  You  must 
have  been  with  me  in  my  dreams,  for  there  is 
nothing  new  about  you,  nothing  strange.  I 
know  your  face  as  I  know  my  own,  and  it  is  rest  to 
be  with  you — rest  and  peace.  It  must  have  been 
meant  that  we  should  meet  to-day,  for  it  is  the  first 
time  for — oh,  so  long,  that  I  have  been  to  any 


io8  What  a  Man  Wills 

public  place!"  She  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her 
black  dress,  and  an  involuntary  shudder  shook  her 
frame.  "But  to-day  I  felt  better,  and  it  was  so 
bright,  and  they  persuaded  me.  I  have  dreaded 
meeting  people,  but  to-day  I  didn't  mind.  I  think 
I  wanted  to  come.  And  then  I  saw  you,  and  your 
face  was  so  familiar  that  I  thought  I  had  met  you 
long  ago  and  had  forgotten." 

"You  had  not  forgotten.  You  had  never 
remembered  anything  so  well.  In  that  first  mo- 
ment you  knew  that  I  was  different  from  the  rest. 
It  was  written  on  your  face,  dear;  there  was  no 
need  for  words!  There  is  something  else  written 
there  which  hurts  me  to  see.  I  think  you  have 
needed  me,  Eve!" 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his  and  pressed  it  to 
her  head  with  a  gesture  more  eloquent  than  words. 
Rupert's  presentiment  of  trouble  had  been  true; 
it  now  remained  to  discover  the  nature  of  her  grief. 

He  was  conscious  of  steadying  himself  mentally 
and  morally,  before  he  possessed  himself  of  the 
disengaged  left  hand,  which  lay  on  her  lap.  Deftly, 
tenderly,  his  fingers  felt  hers,  moving  tentatively 
upwards  over  the  joints,  feeling  with  trembling 
anxiety  for  the  presence  of  rings,  of  the  ring!  The 
shock  at  finding  the  tell-tale  third  finger  bare  was 
almost  as  largely  compounded  of  surprise  as  of 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   109 

joy,  so  strong  had  been  the  presentiment  of  a  hus- 
band in  the  background.  The  eyes  which  he  raised 
to  hers  were  radiant  with  joy,  but  there  was  no 
answering  gleam  in  the  depths  into  which  he  gazed. 
Their  sombre  gloom  chilled  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
ecstasy. 

"Eve,"  he  cried  softly,  "smile  at  me!  I  was 
wrong  to  conjure  up  dead  ghosts  to-day  when 
we  ought  to  think  of  nothing  but  the  happiness  of 
meeting.  Eve !  I  have  been  preparing  for  you  all 
these  years;  now  I  am  free  to  do  as  you  will.  It 
is  for  you  to  order,  and  I  shall  obey.  We  will  go 
where  you  will,  live  where  you  choose " 

"You  will  take  me  away?"  She  bent  forward, 
her  eyes  peering  into  his,  so  that  he  saw  more 
closely  than  he  had  done  before  the  beautiful,  rav- 
aged face,  with  its  slumbering  passion,  its  deep, 
overmastering  gloom.  There  shrilled  through  her 
voice  an  almost  incredible  joy.  "  You — will — take 
— me  away?" 

Dempster  laughed  happily.  Aye,  indeed,  he 
would  take  her  away.  She  was  free,  there  was  no 
barrier  between  them ;  openly,  honourably,  before 
all  the  world  he  could  claim  her  as  his  own — could 
make  her  his  wife  with  all  the  stately  ritual  of  the 
Church. 

"Of  course  I  will  take  you  away!     Do  you  im- 


1 10  What  a  Man  Wills 

agine,  after  all  these  years,  I  will  wait  a  day  longer 
than  I  can  help?  Now  that  I  have  found  you,  I 
shan't  easily  let  you  go."  And,  with  his  whole 
being  thrilling  in  answer  to  her  appeal,  "You 
want  to  come  to  me,  Eve?"  he  asked  her. 

"Yes,"  she  sighed  softly,  "yes!"  Her  lips 
parted  in  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  content.  "You  are 
so  good.  Your  goodness  rests  me.  That's  what 
I  need  more  than  anything  else — rest!"  With 
the  same  tragic  gesture  she  pressed  her  fingers 
against  her  brow,  then,  with  a  sudden  impulse, 
sweet,  and  girlish,  and  unexpected,  clasped  his 
hand  in  hers,  and  repeated  the  gesture,  bending 
her  head  to  meet  the  healing  touch. 

There  was  no  need  of  words  to  explain  the  mean- 
ing of  the  action,  the  message  flashed  from  eye  to 
eye  with  silent  eloquence.  For  the  moment  the 
shadow  lifted,  and  Dempster  gazed  into  a  face 
illumined  by  love  and  tenderness.  Only  for  a 
moment;  then  suddenly  came  the  sound  of  un- 
welcome footsteps,  and  peering  through  the  trailing 
branches  Rupert  beheld  a  middle-aged  couple 
pacing  slowly  by,  glancing  curiously  to  right 
and  left,  yet  remaining  happily  unconscious  of 
the  arbour  behind  the  trees.  He  recognized  the 
woman  as  the  one  who  had  been  standing  by  Eve's 
side  in  the  garden,  and  wondered  with  a  passing 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   in 

amusement  if  curiosity  had  sent  her  to  see  what 
had  become  of  her  companion.  How  far  she  was 
from  guessing  the  high  happenings  of  those  short 
moments! 

In  the  midst  of  his  amusement  he  felt  Eve 
grasp  his  arm,  and  draw  him  back  into  the  shadow. 
It  was  joy  to  feel  that  her  dread  of  interruption 
was  as  keen  as  his  own,  and  he  turned  to  her  a  look 
of  glad  understanding,  but  the  tragic  misery  on  her 
face  chilled  him  once  more. 

It  was  inconceivable  that  the  annoyance  of  a 
temporary  interruption  could  call  forth  such 
intensity  of  feeling,  and  Dempster,  regarding  her, 
felt  his  own  nerves  thrill  with  a  kindred  fear.  For 
one  glad  moment  he  had  believed  that  his  happiness 
was  assured ;  now  he  realized  that  he  had  rejoiced 
too  soon.  There  were  barriers  to  be  overcome — 
mysterious  barriers  which  loomed  before  him,  dark 
and  lowering.  He  caught  the  slight  form  in  his 
arms,  cradling  it  with  pitiful  tenderness. 

"My  darling!  My  darling!  You  are  afraid. 
Of  what  are  you  afraid?  I  am  here — no  one  can 
harm  you.  Give  me  your  dear  hands!  Lean 
against  me !  The  whole  world  cannot  separate  us, 
Eve,  if  we  choose  to  be  together.  Why  are  you 
afraid?" 

He  felt  the  shudder  that  ran  through  her  limbs. 


ii2  What  a  Man  Wills 

Close  against  his  ear  her  lips  trembled  over  the 
words : 

"I  am  afraid  of  losing  you;  of  being  left  alone! 
They  will  try  to  separate  us.  If  they  knew  what 
we  had  been  planning,  they  would  plot  together 
so  that  we  might  not  meet.  You  are  strong,  but 
they  are  stronger,  and  I  am  in  their  power .  .  . 
Take  me  away,  Rupert,  take  me  now,  or  it  will  be 
too  late!" 

He  took  her  hand,  and  raised  it  solemnly  to  his 
lips. 

"I  swear  to  you,"  he  said,  "that  I  will  take 
you.  I  swear  that  I  will  be  the  truest  and  most 
faithful  of  husbands  so  long  as  God  gives  me 
life!" 

"I  swear  to  you,"  she  cried  in  response,  "that 
I  will  be  a  true  wife.  Whatever  has  happened, 
whatever  may  come,  I  swear  that  you  shall  never 
regret  it.  I  will  love  you;  I  will  be  your  slave. 
Nothing,  nothing  can  be  too  much!" 

They  clung  together  in  silence.  The  nearness, 
the  stillness,  the  deep  welling  of  joy  in  the  sweet 
human  contact,  were  all-engrossing.  Rupert 
would  fain  have  banished  all  difficulties  into  the 
future,  and  given  himself  up  to  untrammelled 
enjoyment  of  the  hour,  but  the  urgency  of  Eve's 
appeal  forbade  postponement. 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  113 

He  raised  himself,  supporting  her  in  his  arms. 

"Eve!  from  this  moment  you  and  I  are  one. 
What  belongs  to  one,  belongs  to  the  other;  we 
can  have  no  secrets,  no  concealments.  If  there 
are  difficulties  in  our  way,  I  must  be  prepared  to 
meet  them.  Who  is  this  woman?  What  right 
has  she  or  anyone  else  to  dictate  what  you  should 
or  should  not  do?" 

Her  eyes  gazed  back  into  his  with  a  deep,  un- 
seeing gaze,  the  delicate  eyebrows  creased  as  if  in 
an  effort  of  thought ;  then  once  again  she  lifted  her 
hand  and  pressed  it  against  her  brow.  Poign- 
antly beautiful,  poignantly  sad,  she  sat  and  gave 
him  her  answer. 

"I  live  with  them,"  she  said  quietly.  "They 
take  care  of  me.  I  think — I  think  I  am  mad!" 

Rupert  Dempster  lost  no  time  in  questioning 
his  hostess  as  to  the  history  of  the  Dream  Woman 
who  had  come  to  fill  such  a  real  place  in  his  life. 
As  soon  as  the  guests  had  departed  he  put  in  a  plea 
for  a  private  conversation,  whereupon  Mrs.  Mel- 
huish  seated  herself  on  a  chair  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  lawn,  and  drew  a  long  breath  of  mingled 
fatigue,  and  relief. 

"That's  over,  thank  goodness!  This  annual 
garden-party  to  the  neighbourhood  looms  over  me 


ii4  What  a  Man  Wills 

like  a  nightmare.  I  feel  ten  years  younger  when 
the  last  carriage  has  driven  away  from  the  door. 
Now!  what  can  I  do  for  you?  But  I  know,  of 
course.  You've  fallen  a  victim  to  Eve  Bisdee  and 
her  beaux  yeux.  They  are  beautiful!  It's  about 
once  in  a  lifetime  that  one  meets  an  Englishwoman 
with  such  eyes  as  hers.  It  seems  superfluous  to 
have  a  tongue,  when  all  that  one  feels  can  be  ex- 
pressed so  eloquently  in  a  glance.  Even  now  her 
eyes  are  wonderful;  but  if  you'd  seen  her  as  a 
girl,  before — 

"Before  what?  That's  what  I  am  waiting  to 
hear.  What  happened  to  her?  Some  tragedy,  of 
course.  Tell  me  about  it. " 

Mrs.  Melhuish  gave  him  a  searching  glance. 

"You  realized  that — that  she  is  not — like  other 
people?" 

Rupert's  smile  was  half  sad,  half  triumphant. 

"Not  in  the  least  like  other  people.  But  we 
can  discuss  that  later  on.  I  am  waiting  for  your 
story." 

Mrs.  Melhuish  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand  and 
her  face  fell  into  thoughtful  lines. 

"I've  known  Eve  since  she  was  a  girl  of  eigh- 
teen— the  loveliest  thing! — and  as  gay  and  sweet 
as  she  was  lovely.  She  was  an  only  child,  and  her 
parents  adored  her,  and — what  is  by  no  means  so 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  115 

usual ! — she  adored  them  in  return.  They  were  not 
rich — quite  poor,  in  fact;  but  the  family  was  ex- 
ceptional, and  everyone  visited  them.  When 
Eve  came  out,  Mrs.  Bisdee  used  to  give  charming 
little  evenings,  so  simple  and  unpretentious,  but 
so  well  done.  Eve  was  so  different,  too,  from  the 
ordinary  fair,  placid  English  girl  that  she  made 
quite  a  sensation  in  the  county.  We  expected 
her  to  make  a  great  match.  Then  one  day  they 
were  all  travelling  together  to  Burnham  to  attend 
a  hunt  ball,  and  the  train  they  were  in —  Mrs. 
Melhuish  shuddered,  as  at  a  terrible  remembrance. 
"You  will  remember  it — the  Tunford  accident — 
a  terrible  affair!  Over  sixty  passengers  killed  in 
the  most  appalling  circumstances.  Eve  escaped. 
She  was  travelling  with  a  friend  in  the  rear  part  of 
the  train.  They  were  pulled  out  and  carried  up 
the  bank,  and  there  that  poor  child  stood  and 
looked  on,  helpless,  maddened,  while  her  parents 
and  the  other  poor  wretches  in  the  wrecked  car- 
riages lay  pinned  down,  devoured  by  the  flames. 
Oh,  my  dear  man,  we  read  of  such  things,  we 
agonize  over  them,  or  we  think  we  agonize,  but 
imagine  the  real  thing!  Seeing,  hearing,  within  a 
few  yards,  yet  as  powerless  to  help  as  though  one 
were  at  the  other  side  of  the  world .  .  .  Well ! 
Eve  went  through  that  torture,  and  it  wrecked  her 


ii6  What  a  Man  Wills 

life.  She  had  brain  fever,  and  when  that  passed, 
her  mind  remained — what  shall  I  say? — clouded. 
Yes,  that's  the  right  word.  It  expresses  exactly 
the  truth.  There  is  a  cloud  hanging  over  her,  shut- 
ting out  the  sun.  Her  memory  is  impaired,  so 
that  she  does  not  remember  any  actual  event;  but 
there  is  an  impression  of  horror  and  dread.  It  is 
ten  years  since  the  accident,  and  the  cloud  has  not 
lifted.  She  lives  with  our  doctor  and  his  wife; 
they  are  good,  honest  people,  and  do  their  best; 
but  I  wish  sometimes  she  could  have  a  change.  At 
the  best  of  times  they  are  not  her  type,  and  after 
ten  years  together ' 

"You  say  that  the  cloud  has  not  lifted.  Is  she 
no  better  than  at  the  beginning  of  the  time?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  When  one  looks  back  over  the  years 
one  can  see  that  there  is  improvement.  Her  health 
is  better,  and  she  has  lost  her  dread  of  society.  At 
times,  as  you  saw  her  to-day,  one  would  hardly 
realize  that  she  was  not  normal.  But  the  cloud 
falls.  She  is  always  sweet,  always  gentle,  but 
terrible,  terribly  sad." 

"But  she  is  better,"  Rupert  insisted.  "She 
is  going  to  get  quite  well.  I  am  going  to  make  her 
well.  .  .  Mrs.  Melhuish" — he  leaned  forward, 
his  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  chair — "you  are  my 
very  kind  friend.  It  is  only  right  that  I  should  tell 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  117 

you  at  once.  ...  I  am  going  to  marry  Eve 
Bisdee!" 

"My  dear  Rupert!"  cried  Mrs.  Melhuish  deeply. 
Her  face  flushed,  her  mild  eye  showed  a  flash  of 
anger.  She  was  shocked — more  than  shocked, 
outraged.  Her  voice  took  an  edge  of  coldness. 
"Really,  this  is  too  much.  Eve  is  a  most  appeal- 
ing creature,  and  it  is  natural  that  a  man  should 
feel  chivalrous  and  protective  when  he  hears  her 
history.  But  marriage!  That's  unthinkable!  It 
offends  me.  Please  think  of  what  you  are  saying ! " 

Rupert  lifted  his  hand  and  laid  it  gently  on  hers. 
They  were  old  friends,  these  two,  and  for  years 
back  had  been  able  to  speak  together  frankly 
without  fear  of  offence. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "Listen  to  what  I  have  to 
say  before  you  give  your  verdict.  What  I  propose 
to  do  may  be  unusual,  but  it  is  eminently  sane. 
I  propose  to  change  places  with  that  doctor,  and 
to  see  what  I  can  do  towards  removing  that  cloud. 
There  is  only  one  way  in  which  I  can  gain  the  right, 
and  that  is  by  going  through  a  form  of  marriage. 
Therefore  a  form  of  marriage  it  must  be.  Don't 
look  at  me  in  that  commiserating  manner,  dear 
lady!  This  is  not  philanthropy,  it's  not  pity. 
I  am  going  to  undertake  this  thing  because  I  want 
to  do  it  more  than  anything  on  earth !  Now  do  you 


ii8  What  a  Man  Wills 

understand?  You  know  my  ideas  about  love. 
We  have  talked  of  them  together,  and  you  know 
for  what  I  have  been  waiting.  It  came  to  me  this 
afternoon,  at  the  moment  when  Eve's  eyes  looked 
into  mine.  From  that  moment  there  was  no  going 
back." 

"My  dear  Rupert!"  cried  Mrs.  Melhuish  again. 
The  anger  had  faded  from  her  face,  but  she  looked 
infinitely  distressed.  With  all  her  heart  she  wished 
that  this  meeting  had  never  taken  place.  "My 
dear  Rupert,  to  have  waited  so  long,  and  then  to 
rush  into  folly  like  this !  I  do  know  your  ideas,  and 
very  beautiful  they  are;  all  the  more  reason  why 
you  should  make  no  mistake.  There  is  always  the 
reverse  side  of  the  picture,  and  as  you  can  love 
more  keenly  than  other  men,  so  of  a  certainty  can 
you  suffer  more.  You  may  feel  powerfully  at- 
tracted to  poor  Eve,  but  you  have  no  idea  of  the 
strain  and  weariness  of  battling  with  a  mind  dis- 
eased. It's  hard  enough  when  such  a  task  comes 
to  one  as  an  obvious  duty,  but  to  choose  it!" 

"I  did  not  choose  it,"  Rupert  said  quietly. 
"There  is  no  question  of  choice.  It  has  to  be. 
Don't  make  it  harder  for  me  by  misunderstanding. 
For  a  moment  I  thought  my  kingdom  had  come, 
but  that  was  a  mistake.  I  have  met  my  Queen, 
but  I  shall  have  to  serve  for  her  before  she  is  really 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   119 

mine.  Seven  years  I  may  have  to  serve — perhaps 
for  twice  seven  years.  Do  you  think  a  man  would 
deliberately  choose  such  a  fate?  It's  something 
stronger  than  choice  between  Eve  and  me.  The 
simple  truth  is  that  I  have  no  object  in  life  but  to 
help  her  to  get  back  to  the  light.  I'll  tell  you 
something  else,  too — I'm  the  only  man  who  can  do 
it!  I  possess  a  power  over  her  which  no  doctor 
or  nurse  could  obtain.  Good  heavens!  Haven't 
they  had  ten  years  for  their  experiments?  How 
much  longer  would  you  have  me  content  to  stand 
by  and  wait?  If  she  has  any  relations,  they  must 
be  thankful  to  give  her  a  chance  of  being  cared  for, 
for  love  instead  of  money.  I'll  find  her  a  nurse, 
the  best  nurse  that  can  be  had.  We'll  take  her 
abroad  to  live  in  the  sun,  away  from  all  her  old 
associations.  She  is  afraid  of  those  people — did 
you  know  that?  She  is  not  afraid  of  me.  She 
wants  to  come.  My  dear  lady,  this  thing  is  going 
to  be  !  The  question  is — am  I  to  have  your  help? " 
Mrs.  Melhuish  was  not  easily  convinced,  but 
she  was  conquered  in  the  end,  as  were,  in  turns,  the 
few  relatives  whom  Eve  possessed.  All  had  been 
conscious  that  the  time  had  come  to  make  a  change, 
and  no  more  promising  change  could  be  imagined 
than  the  one  proposed.  From  Eve's  own  point  of 
view,  that  was  to  say!  For  Dempster  it  was  a 


120  What  a  Man  Wills 

different  matter.  The  relations  felt  it  their  duty 
to  argue  with  him,  to  point  out  that  he  was  reck- 
lessly shattering  his  life.  But  Dempster  smiled, 
and  persisted. 

Very  well,  then!  let  him  have  his  way.  So 
Rupert  and  Eve  were  married,  and  immediately 
after  set  sail  for  Egypt. 

One  midsummer  afternoon  two  years  later, 
Rupert  Dempster  walked  along  an  exquisite 
stretch  of  road  in  North  Wales  which  divides  the 
rocky  course  of  the  river  Dee  from  a  sleepy  canal 
with  fern-covered  banks,  and  an  overhanging  arch 
of  green.  After  the  blazing  Eastern  lands  in 
which  the  past  years  had  been  spent,  the  dewy 
loveliness  of  the  scene  was  a  delight  to  the  senses. 
On  every  side  rose  the  crests  of  green,  smiling 
hills ;  the  river  broke  into  ripples  of  foam  round  the 
scattered  rocks  which  strewed  its  bed.  Along  the 
still  stream  to  the  left  floated  a  miniature  barge, 
carrying  a  gay  awning  overhead.  This  was  the 
omnibus  of  the  neighbourhood,  plying  up  and  down 
the  stream  several  times  a  day,  and  even  as  Rupert 
watched,  its  slow  course  was  stayed,  and  one  of  the 
passengers  alighted  and  walked  slowly  towards 
him. 

She  was  a  slightly-made  girl  with  a  noticeable 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  121 

daintiness  of  movement.  Under  her  wide-brimmed 
hat  her  face  showed  small  and  pale,  and  her  hair 
was  of  a  light  flaxen  hue.  Rupert  knitted  his 
brow,  and  his  pace  quickened  instinctively.  The 
girl  walked  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  oblivious 
of  his  approach.  Another  moment  and  they  were 
side  by  side,  and  Rupert  gave  a  cry  of  recognition. 

"Lilith!  It  is  Lilith!  What  an  extraordinary 
chance,  to  meet  you  here!  My  dear  Lilith,  I  am 
so  pleased  to  see  you. " 

And  indeed  there  was  unmistakable  pleasure  in 
his  voice;  the  somewhat  worn  face  lightened  with 
animation.  He  gripped  the  girl's  hand  with  eager 
fingers,  and  she  smiled  back  at  him,  a  calm,  un- 
perturbed smile,  as  though  she  had  parted  from 
him  but  an  hour  before. 

"How  do  you  do,  Rupert?  Are  you  staying 
down  here?  Is  Mrs.  Dempster  with  you?" 

"Yes.  We  have  taken  the  house  just  behind 
those  trees.  Do  you  know  it?  You  cross  the  next 
bridge,  and  follow  the  lane  to  the  left. " 

"Yes,  I  know  it.     I'm  staying  at  the  Inn." 

Lilith  walked  by  his  side,  her  eyes  quietly 
searching  his  face,  but  having  vouchsafed  these 
bare  words  of  information,  she  added  nothing 
more.  The  silence  lasted  for  several  minutes, 
nevertheless  it  was  with  an  overwhelming  impres- 


122  What  a  Man  Wills 

sion  of  answering  a  question,  that  Rupert  spoke 
again,  saying  slowly : 

"She  is  better,  but  she  is  not  cured.  The  at- 
tacks of  depression  come  on  less  frequently,  but 
they  still  come.  We  are  tring  to  ward  off  another 
at  this  moment.  She  grew  tired  of  the  East. 
For  a  time  she  delighted  in  it,  and  the  novelty  took 
her  out  of  herself;  but  it  became  wearisome — the 
eternal  glare,  the  absence  of  green,  the  medley  of 
tongues.  She  wanted  to  come  home.  We've 
been  wandering  about  for  the  last  four  months,  and 
landed  here  last  week.  It's  a  charming  spot,  and 
peaceful.  It  ought  to  do  her  good ! " 

There  was  an  appeal  in  his  voice  which  a 
woman's  ear  should  have  been  quick  to  read,  but 
Lilith  made  no  response.  She  turned  her  strange, 
expressionless  eyes  first  on  the  silent,  shaded  canal, 
then  on  the  river,  sparkling  in  the  sun,  its  waters 
beating  against  the  jagged  rocks.  Until  that 
moment  Rupert  had  regarded  the  two  streams  from 
an  artistic  standpoint  only,  now  of  a  sudden  they 
seemed  charged  with  a  spiritual  meaning.  Peace 
and  storm,  stagnation  and  action,  life  and  death, — 
he  saw  them  all  in  the  contrast  between  those  two 
streams,  and  for  the  first  time  a  doubt  crept  into 
his  mind  whether  he  had  done  well  for  Eve  in 
shielding  her  from  the  great  current  of  life,  and 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   123 

lapping  her  round  with  eternal  calm.  He  turned 
abruptly  to  the  girl  and  put  another  question: 

"Will  you  come  with  me  now  and  see  her? 
I  think  perhaps  you  might  do  her  good." 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  Lilith  answered,  with  a 
courteous  indifference  at  which  Rupert  smiled 
with  grim  amusement.  For  two  long  years  he  had 
guarded  his  treasure  with  never-ceasing  vigilance, 
finding  for  her  the  most  secluded  retreats,  where  no 
alien  eye  should  disturb  her  repose;  avoiding  the 
society  of  his  fellow-creatures  as  if  it  had  been 
the  plague.  And  now  at  last  he  had  invited  an 
outsider  to  disturb  that  calm,  and  she  had  received 
the  honour  with  the  indifference  accorded  to  the 
most  ordinary  of  invitations!  But,  after  all,  what 
had  he  expected?  Who  had  ever  yet  seen  Lilith 
moved  out  of  her  colossal  calm! 

Rupert  led  the  way  towards  his  temporary  home, 
opened  the  gate,  and  escorted  Lilith  through  a 
brilliant  tangle  of  garden  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
where  several  long  chairs  were  ranged  along  a 
shaded  veranda.  On  one  of  these  lay  Eve,  in  a 
reverie  so  deep  that  the  new-comers  had  time  to 
take  in  the  details  of  her  appearance  before  she  was 
aware  of  their  approach. 

She  wore  a  white  dress,  the  skirt  of  which  was 
scattered  with  the  petals  of  crimson  roses,  which 


124  What  a  Man  Wills 

her  restless  hands  had  pulled  asunder.  Her  head 
was  tilted  back  on  the  cushion,  showing  the  beauti- 
ful line  of  the  throat;  her  face  was  ivory  white, 
and  the  curved  bow  of  her  lips  showed  vividly, 
startingly  red.  Even  that  first  glance  brought  an 
impression  of  strain  and  unrest ;  and  as  her  ear  at 
last  caught  the  sound  of  the  approaching  footsteps, 
she  leaped  upward  with  a  gesture  of  alarm.  Her 
eyes  fell  upon  Lilith's  figure  and  distended  in  wild 
distress,  but  the  next  moment  she  beheld  Rupert, 
and  in  a  flash  the  fear  disappeared  and  was  re- 
placed by  the  most  melting  tenderness.  She  came 
forward  with  the  shy  grace  of  a  child,  slipped  her 
hand  into  his,  and  stood  passively  waiting  for  what 
it  should  please  him  to  do  next.  Anyone  who 
doubted  if  Rupert  Dempster's  love  had  stood  the 
strain  of  those  two  long  years  of  waiting  would 
have  found  his  answer  in  one  glimpse  at  the  man's 
face  as  he  stood  holding  that  little  hand  in  his. 

"Eve!  this  is  an  old  friend.  I  met  her  walking 
by  the  river,  and  asked  her  to  come  and  see  you. 
Her  name  is  Lilith  Wastneys.  You  remember  it, 
don't  you?  I  have  spoken  to  you  about  her." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  Eve  said.  She  took  her 
hand  from  her  husband's,  and  held  it  out  towards 
Lilith  with  a  graceful  gesture  of  greeting.  Her 
eyes  dwelt  on  the  small,  composed  face  with  an 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  125 

expression  of  incredulous  surprise.  "You  wished 
for  Power!  That  seemed  strange  to  me  when  I 
heard  it,  and  now  that  I  have  seen  you  it  seems 
stranger  still.  You  look  so  small  and  gentle. 
I  wonder  what  made  you  wish  for  Power!" 

Lilith's  smile  was  as  inscrutable  as  her  eyes. 
She  answered  simply  by  making  another  statement: 

"And  Rupert  wished  for  love." 

"He  has  got  it!"  said  Eve  deeply.  She  gave 
one  glance  at  her  husband — a  wonderful,  liquid 
glance,  then  turned  back  to  her  guest.  "Won't 
you  sit  down?  I  sit  in  the  veranda  to  be  out  of 
the  sun.  I  am  so  tired  of  the  sun.  In  the  East 
it  is  cruel,  blazing  down  day  after  day,  mocking 
at  the  shadows.  But  the  shadows  are  there — it 
cannot  chase  them  away."  She  leaned  back  on 
her  cushions.  "Here  all  is  so  cool  and  calm,  and 
the  rain  falls.  That  feels  like  nature  weeping  with 
us.  I  like  to  watch  the  rain.  Have  you  a  pretty 
garden  to  sit  in?" 

"I  am  staying  at  the  Inn.  I  don't  want  a  gar- 
den. I  can  have  that  at  home.  When  I  want 
to  rest  I  walk  over  the  stepping-stones  into  the 
middle  of  the  river.  There  is  a  big  rock  there 
which  forms  a  kind  of  natural  arm-chair.  I  can  sit 
on  it,  looking  down  the  stream,  and  no  one  can  see 
me  from  the  bank,  for  the  rock  rises  up  like  a  wall 


126  What  a  Man  Wills 

nearly  all  the  way  round.  To  sit  there  is  like  a 
peep  into  another  life;  a  mermaid's  life,  all  grey 
rock,  and  splashing  foam,  and  soft,  ceaseless  roar. 
When  you  listen  to  that  roar  from  the  bank  it 
sounds  harsh  and  monotonous.  You  are  on  an- 
other element,  you  see,  so  it  is  alien  to  you,  and 
has  no  meaning,  but  on  the  rock  you  are  part  of  the 
river  itself.  It  tells  you  its  secrets.  You  can 
understand!" 

As  she  finished  speaking,  Lilith's  heavy  lids 
lifted,  and  her  eyes  flashed  with  a  sudden  light. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence;  then  Eve  bent 
forward  on  her  seat,  while  a  wave  of  colour  flamed 
into  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Will  you  take  me  with  you?  "  she  cried  breath- 
lessly. "Will  you  take  me  now?  There  is  some- 
thing I  am  always  trying  to  hear — a  secret  which 
I  am  always  trying  to  find  out,  and  no  one  can  help 
me.  Perhaps  the  river  will  tell  me  my  secret .  .  . 
Take  me  with  you,  and  let  me  try!" 

Eve  was  fascinated  with  the  rocky  seat,  and 
spent  hours  of  each  day  ensconced  thereon. 
The  river  was  so  low  that  it  was  easy  to  step  from 
one  rock  to  another,  and  Rupert  would  see  her 
comfortably  settled,  and  then  leave  her  to  take  the 
brisk  walk  over  the  hills  which  was  his  usual  exer- 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  127 

cise.  Eve  preferred  to  be  alone  for  part  of  the  day, 
and  he  had  no  fear  of  leaving  her.  There  had 
never  been  any  suicidal  tendency  in  her  derange- 
ment; rather  did  she  cling  to  life,  and  shrink  from 
the  thought  of  death.  And  the  river  soothed  her, 
she  said;  the  murmuring  voice  seemed  to  whisper 
of  happiness  and  peace,  but  as  yet  it  was  only  a 
murmur.  In  vain  she  strained  her  ears;  the  mes- 
sage eluded  her,  and  floated  vaguely  into  space. 
"Louder!"  she  would  cry.  "Louder!"  But  the 
river  floated  sleepily  on  its  course,  and  refused  to 
be  aroused. 

A  week  passed  by,  and  Rupert  grew  restless  and 
uneasy.  Eve  was  still  obsessed  with  love  of  her 
river  seat,  but  the  strain  of  listening  for  the  mes- 
sage which  never  came  added  to  her  depression, 
and  it  irked  him  to  feel  that  she  was  deliberately 
courting  a  disappointment  which  he  was  powerless 
to  relieve. 

"  It  can  do  no  good, "  he  told  Lilith  impatiently, 
' '  and  it  may  do  great  harm.  I  have  been  so  careful 
to  screen  her  from  every  kind  of  excitement  or 
strain,  so  that  the  brain  should  have  time  to  rest. " 

"Or  stagnate?"  suggested  Lilith  coldly.  "She 
has  had — how  many  years  is  it — ten  or  twelve? — 
of  this  wrapping  in  cotton  wool,  and  she  has  pro- 
gressed— how  far  should  you  call  it — one  inch,  or 


128  What  a  Man  Wills 

two?  How  much  longer  shall  you  be  content  with 
inches?  If  she  were  in  my  charge " 

Rupert  stopped  and  faced  her  in  the  narrow 
path.  There  was  a  hint  of  roughness  in  his  man- 
ner. When  a  man  is  strung  to  the  finest  point  of 
tension  it  is  not  always  easy  to  preserve  the  conven- 
tions. "It  is  easy  to  boast  when  one  has  had  no 
experience !  What  would  you  do  if  she  were  in  your 
charge?" 

"Neglect  her,  ignore  her,  leave  her  to  fend  for 
herself !  You  and  that  drudge  of  a  nurse  imagine 
that  you  are  helping  by  waiting  on  her  hand  and 
foot.  What  if  instead  you  are  sapping  her  vital- 
ity, and  stealing  her  chance  of  life?  What  do  you 
leave  for  her  to  do,  except  to  breathe?  If  you 
could  breathe  for  her,  you  would  relieve  her  of  that 
also!  You  make  her  into  a  doll,  and  expect  the 
doll  to  live !  She  is  asleep,  and  you  feed  her  with 
drugs.  Better  a  thousand  times  to  waken  her  out 
of  her  sleep,  even  if  it  be  to  suffer.  It  was  a  shock 
which  deadened  the  brain;  it  may  be  that  only  a 
shock  can  rouse  it  to  life  again!" 

"Ah!"  cried  Rupert  bitterly.  "I  have  heard 
that  theory  before.  It's  a  devilish  theory!  My 
poor  Eve!  She  has  been  tortured  enough;  she 
shall  be  tortured  no  more.  It  was  the  horror  of 
what  she  saw  and  heard  which  caused  the  mischief 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  129 

in  the  beginning.  The  one  thing  I  am  thankful 
for  in  this  loss  of  memory  is  that  that  horror  has 
faded." 

Lilith   looked   at  him  with   her   steady  eyes. 

"Have  you  ever  been  delirious?"  she  asked 
him.  "Not  for  an  odd  hour  here  and  there,  but 
for  days  together,  stretching  out  into  weeks?  I 
have;  and  I  know.  Nothing  real  can  approach  the 
horror  of  the  unknown.  There  is  no  beginning  to 
it,  and  no  end.  It's  a  great  cloud  darkening  the 
sky;  it  presses  lower,  lower,  strangling  the  breath. 
There  is  no  hope  in  it,  no  appeal.  Your  wife  saw 
her  parents  killed  before  her  eyes.  I  tell  you  the 
memory  of  the  truth  would  be  peaceful,  compared 
with  this  struggle  in  the  darkness.  She  would 
realize  that  it  was  over,  that  they  were  at  rest; 
that  it  would  pain  them  if  she  went  mourning  all 
her  life.  I  tell  you,  Rupert,  the  only  chance  of 
Eve's  recovery  is  to  shock  her  into  remembrance ! " 

"And  if  it  were,  if  it  were?" — he  turned  upon 
her  fiercely  as  though  battling  against  an  inner 
conviction.  "A  shock  strong  enough  to  revolu- 
tionize the  brain  lies  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  to 
give  or  to  retain.  What  man  dare  meddle  with 
such  a  cure?  I  love  my  wife;  she  is  my  world. 
Am  I  to  risk  her  life  for  a  possible  relief?  To 
deliberately  court  danger  that  she — she — "  He 


130  What  a  Man  Wills 

threw  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  intolerable 
impatience.  "Oh,  it  is  unthinkable!  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  It  is  easy  for 
you  to  talk.  You  have  no  heart.  You  cannot 
feel " 

He  strode  away  up  the  road  leading  to  the  hills, 
and  Lilith  stood  and  watched  him  go,  and  picked  a 
leaf  of  sorrel  from  the  bank  by  her  side  and  rubbed 
it  daintily  between  her  small  teeth,  enjoying  the 
sharp,  pungent  taste.  Rupert's  anger  had  no 
power  to  ruffle  her  calm. 

By  and  by  she  also  started  on  her  morning 
promenade,  passing  by  the  gate  of  Dempster's 
house,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  Eve  upon  the 
veranda.  There  had  been  thunder-storms  in  the 
neighbourhood  during  the  last  few  days,  and 
though  the  actual  storms  had  not  yet  reached  their 
little  retreat,  the  atmosphere  was  heavy  and 
breathless.  That  morning  Eve  had  complained  of 
a  headache,  and  had  seemed  content  to  remain  in 
the  garden.  As  she  passed  by,  Lilith  saw  the  nurse 
come  out  of  the  gate,  basket  in  hand,  and  turn  in 
the  direction  of  the  canal  bank.  Evidently  she  was 
bound  for  the  barge-omnibus,  which  should  convey 
her  to  the  nearest  township.  Lilith  repaired  to 
her  own  room  in  the  Inn,  and  set  about  the  task  of 
answering  a  pile  of  letters. 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  131 

Two  hours  passed  quickly.  Then  gradually  into 
her  preoccupation  stole  the  sense  of  something 
unusual  and  disturbing.  She  raised  her  head, 
and  sat  quietly  considering  its  cause.  The  little 
room  seemed  filled  with  a  rushing  noise;  it  was  not 
a  new  noise,  but  rather  an  exaggeration  of  the  one 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  for  weeks  past — 
the  swirling  of  the  river. 

Lilith  rose,  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  latticed 
window.  The  Inn  stood  on  the  bisecting  road 
between  canal  and  river,  within  but  a  few  yards' 
distance  of  each;  but  this  morning  a  strange  trans- 
formation had  passed  over  the  accustomed  scene. 
The  waters  of  the  river  were  no  longer  crystal 
clear,  but  of  a  thick  muddy  brown;  their  course 
was  no  longer  smiling  and  leisurely,  but  rapid  and 
threatening.  Upon  the  surface  floated  broken 
branches  and  boughs  of  trees. 

Lilith  turned  instantly  and  descended  the  stairs. 
A  sense  of  happenings  was  upon  her;  there  was  no 
time  to  waste. 

At  the  door  of  the  Inn  stood  the  landlord,  his 
broad  face  lit  by  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  Life 
was  sleepy  in  this  quiet  vale;  he  welcomed  a 
passing  excitement. 

"The  river  is  in  flood,  miss!"  he  cried  genially. 
"Yes,  indeed,  we  shall  have  a  big  flood !  There  were 


132  What  a  Man  Wills 

bad  thunder-storms  this  last  week  up  in  the  hills 
in  Merioneth,  where  the  river  rises,  and  all  the 
streams  will  be  swollen,  and  pouring  down  into  the 
lake.  It  was  the  same  in  the  spring  five  years  ago, 
when  my  Willie  was  born.  Yes,  indeed,  the  roar 
of  it  woke  us  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Look 
at  the  colour  of  it  now,  miss,  and  the  speed !  Soon 
there  will  not  be  a  rock  to  be  seen.  Yes,  indeed, 
it  will  be  a  fine  sight,  the  river,  when  it  will  be  in 
flood!" 

He  was  beaming  with  innocent  enjoyment. 
His  face  fell  like  that  of  a  thwarted  child  when  the 
visitor  turned,  without  as  much  as  a  word,  and 
walked  down  the  path ;  he  stared  after  her  blankly, 
then  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  ambled  heavily 
back  inside  the  Inn. 

Lilith  walked  with  rapid  footsteps ;  her  lips  were 
set,  but  her  eyes  roamed.  They  turned  upward 
towards  the  house  among  the  trees  where  she  had 
left  Eve  seated  on  the  veranda.  Assuredly  Eve 
was  there  still;  she  had  a  headache,  and  had 
announced  her  decision  to  remain  at  home.  This 
morning,  for  once,  the  river  seat  had  lost  its  allure. 
Of  a  certainty  Eve  was  still  on  her  veranda. 
Nevertheless  Lilith's  footsteps  grew  quicker; 
straight  as  a  die  she  made  for  the  point  on  the 
bank  opposite  to  the  chain  of  stepping-stones. 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   133 

No  trace  of  an  occupant  was  to  be  seen  on  the 
central  islet,  but  a  stronger  sense  than  that  of 
sight  was  at  work  in  Lilith's  brain.  All  the  argu- 
ments in  the  world  were  powerless  to  deceive  her. 
Eve  was  on  the  rock!  She  knew  it.  It  was  the 
truth. 

On  the  edge  of  the  road  stood  the  stump  of  an 
old  tree,  the  nearest  fork  of  which  stood  four  or 
five  feet  from  the  ground.  Lilith  grasped  it  with 
both  hands,  and  with  an  agile  movement  drew  her 
knees  up  to  the  level.  The  rest  was  easy;  she 
took  another  grasp  of  the  trunk,  drew  up  her  feet 
and  stood,  supporting  herself  on  either  side,  gaz- 
ing over  the  stream. 

Yes!  the  inner  certitude  had  been  correct. 
Against  the  dull  grey  of  the  rock  lay  the  folds 
of  a  white  dress,  the  gleam  of  scarlet  from  a  folded 
parasol,  a  dark  head  lay  tilted  backward  towards 
the  sky.  Eve  was  there,  asleep,  or  wrapped  in 
one  of  her  trance-like  reveries  in  which  she  was 
unconscious  of  passing  events.  She  would  see 
nothing,  hear  nothing,  until  the  mood  passed  and 
she  became  conscious  of  a  desire  for  movement. 
For  half  an  hour  to  come,  perhaps  for  an  hour,  she 
would  remain  oblivious,  and,  meanwhile,  with 
every  moment  the  stream  was  rising  and  gaining 
more  deadly  swiftness. 


134  What  a  Man  Wills 

Lilith  crooked  one  arm  round  the  bough  of  the 
tree  and  raised  bent  hands  to  her  mouth.  The 
stepping-stones  were  still  well  above  water.  She 
would  send  her  piercing  "coo-ee"  across  the  stream 
and  continue  to  send  it,  until  the  unusual  charac- 
ter of  the  sound  attracted  Eve's  attention,  then 
she  would  go  to  meet  her,  and  help  her  to  the  bank. 
There  would  be  no  danger,  only  a  spice  of  excite- 
ment; a  thrilling  realization  of  what  might  have 
been.  No  more. 

Lilith  pursed  her  lips  to  give  the  signal,  but  the 
signal  did  not  come.  Poised  in  the  very  attitude 
of  preparation,  a  sudden  change  of  expression 
showed  in  her  still  eyes,  or  rather  an  arrestment  of 
expression;  the  features  remained  fixed  and  im- 
movable, while  the  brain  worked. 

For  one  long  minute  she  stood  motionless,  then, 
slowly,  her  hands  fell  to  her  sides;  she  bent  down- 
wards until  once  more  her  knees  rested  on  the  fork 
of  the  tree,  from  hence  she  let  herself  gently  to 
the  ground.  No  one  had  seen  her.  The  Innkeeper 
was  busy ;  the  road  stretched  ahead  bare  and  empty. 
No  one  would  interfere. 

Lilith  walked  to  the  nearest  bridge,  crossed  it 
and  seated  herself  on  a  sloping  bank.  The  ground 
was  raised  above  the  level  of  the  canal,  and  by 
raising  her  head  she  could  see  the  chain  of  stepping- 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love   135 

stones  leading  to  the  rocky  islet.  She  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap  and  watched.  The  sun  shone  out 
from  behind  a  leaden  bank  of  clouds,  and  beat  on 
her  face.  What  was  the  expression  of  Lilith's  face  ? 
There  was  strength  on  it,  an  immense,  all-conquer- 
ing strength;  there  was  the  mark  of  strain,  in 
deepened  line  and  close-set  lip;  but  there  was 
something  else — something  dominating,  over- 
riding. It  shone  in  the  eyes ;  the  pose  of  the  head 
showed  it,  the  beating  pulse  in  the  throat.  It  was 
joy — primitive,  triumphant  joy ! 

The  stepping-stones  grew  small  and  smaller; 
above  the  dark  swirl  of  the  river  their  grey  sur- 
faces caught  the  sun  and  gleamed  into  silver. 
Once  and  anon  branches  of  a  tree  borne  down  by 
the  flood  were  caught  by  one  of  these  islets  and  for 
a  moment  held  bound,  then  the  swirl  and  the  rush 
overcame,  and  they  were  swept  relentlessly  on- 
ward. Lilith's  lips  tightened  as  she  watched  them 
pass. 

Ten  minutes  passed ;  twenty  minutes ;  the  silver 
gleams  made  but  tiny  spaces  above  the  flood. 
Lilith  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  poised  for  flight. 

Another  five  minutes  and  the  waters  lapped  over 
the  surface  of  the  smallest  stone.  Like  an  arrow 
from  the  bow,  Lilith  flew  across  the  bridge,  down 
the  path  to  the  little  Inn. 


136  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Help!  Help!  The  ropes!  .  .  .A  lady  is  on 
one  of  the  rocks.  The  lady  from  Plas  Glynn. 
The  ropes !  Quick !  Quick ! ' ' 

The  ropes  hung  coiled  in  the  entrance  of  the  Inn. 
It  was  not  the  river  which  was  the  danger,  but  the 
shaded,  sleeping  canal.  Many  a  pedestrian  had 
taken  a  false  step  off  that  fern-bordered  bank,  and 
had  had  a  sore  struggle  for  his  life.  The  Inn- 
keeper's own  son  had  had  this  struggle.  The  ropes 
were  ready,  noosed  at  the  end — long,  stout  ropes, 
for  use,  not  play.  The  Innkeeper  seized  them  from 
their  pegs  and  followed  Lilith  down  the  path. 
Afterwards  he  recalled  that  it  was  she  who  issued 
orders,  and  he  who  obeyed.  He  lashed  the  end  of 
the  ropes  round  the  stump  of  the  old  tree.  One 
noose  was  put  round  his  own  waist,  the  other  he 
carried  in  his  hand.  The  young  lady  stood  by  to 
let  out  their  length,  but  before  he  could  start,  a  cry 
sounded  from  behind,  a  terrible  cry  from  the  depths 
of  a  tortured  heart,  and  Rupert  Dempster  fell 
upon  him,  and  wrenched  the  ropes  from  his  hand. 

They  lifted  their  voices,  the  two  men  and  the  girl, 
and  sent  forth  a  ringing  cry  of  alarm ;  once,  twice, 
they  sent  it  forth,  while  Rupert  felt  his  way  to  the 
first  wave-lashed  stone,  and  at  the  third  cry  Eve's 
white  figure  appeared  in  the  aperture  between  the 
rocks. 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  137 

The  sight  on  which  she  looked  was  enough  to 
turn  the  strongest  head — the  waste  of  waters  where 
there  had  been  a  bubbling  stream,  the  swirling 
current  covering  the  way  of  retreat ;  yet  to  the  on- 
lookers there  appeared  no  sign  of  distress  in  Eve's 
attitude.  The  lurid  sun  still  shown  down,  shaft- 
like  through  the  clouds,  and  showed  her  white 
figure  in  vivid  distinctness.  She  was  bending 
forward,  gazing,  not  at  the  shore,  but  upward 
across  the  flood.  Her  ear  was  bent  low,  as  though 
listening  to  its  voice .... 

.Rupert  turned  back  from  the  first  stone,  threw 
off  his  shoes,  and  started  afresh.  Once  and  again 
his  foot  slipped,  and  he  swayed  perilously  to  right 
and  left,  but  always  he  recovered  himself,  and 
pressed  on  steadfastly  towards  the  rock  where 
stood  his  wife,  motionless,  bending  forward 
towards  the  stream. 

He  was  by  her  side,  standing  on  the  same  foot- 
hold, before  she  was  conscious  of  his  presence; 
then  he  spoke  her  name,  and  she  turned  her  eyes 
upon  him.  Oh,  God  in  heaven,  they  were  sane 
eyes!  Clear,  straight-glancing  eyes.  Sane  eyes, 
full  of  thankfulness  and  peace ! 

' '  I  remember ! ' '  she  cried  loudly.  ' '  I  remember ! 
The  river  has  told  me.  Oh,  Rupert  I  am  free. ..." 

"Come!"  he  said  simply,  and  took  her  hand. 


138  What  a  Man  Wills 

There  was  no  time  to  waste,  for  the  flood  was  rush- 
ing on  its  way,  and  the  perilous  passage  had  still 
to  be  made;  but  there  was  no  fear  in  either  heart. 
Nothing  on  earth  or  sea  could  mar  the  rapture  of 
that  moment.  After  long  waiting  and  heart- 
sickness  the  cloud  had  lifted,  and  the  shadows  had 
taken  wing.  He  read  the  change  in  her  eyes,  the 
very  touch  of  her  hand  within  his  told  the  same 
tale.  It  was  no  longer  weak  and  helpless;  her 
fingers  clasped  his  with  a  strong,  resolute  grasp, 
giving  help  as  well  as  receiving.  The  Dream 
Woman  had  come  to  life! 

From  the  bank  the  stepping-stones  had  dis- 
appeared from  sight,  and  to  the  dazzled  eyes  of 
the  onlookers  it  seemed  as  though  two  disembodied 
spirits  came  walking  towards  them  across  the 
waters,  their  faces  lit  with  an  unearthly  radiance. 

When  the  bank  was  reached,  they  turned,  and 
made  their  way  towards  the  house,  unconscious 
of  the  existence  of  the  watchers.  Hand  in  hand 
they  crossed  the  bridge  and  mounted  the  sloping 
path.  .  .  . 

The  Innkeeper  hitched  his  shoulders  and  drew 
a  trembling  breath. 

' '  It  was  a  near  thing,  look  you !  As  near  a  shave 
as  ever  I  seen.  .  .  .  That  was  a  good  thing, 


The  Man  Who  Waited  for  Love  139 

missy,  that  you  caught  sight  of  her  just  at  the 
right  moment!" 

Lilith's  heavy  eyelids  drooped  over  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said  sleepily,  "the  very  right 
moment!" 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  POWER 

Two  men  proposed  to  Lilith  Wastneys  at  the  same 
ball  and  in  the  same  palm-shaded  retreat.  She 
was  not  surprised,  because  she  had  willed  that  they 
should  speak,  and  people  had  a  habit  of  doing  as 
Lilith  willed.  Very  early  in  her  life  she  had  dis- 
covered that  if  she  said  nothing,  and  thought  hard, 
that  thought  had  a  power  to  mould  others  to  her 
will. 

It  was  not  often  that  she  put  forth  her  power,  for 
her  attitude  towards  her  fellows  was  one  of  lofty 
detachment.  They  were  commonplace  creatures 
— weak,  vacillating  creatures,  swayed  to  and  fro 
by  the  emotions  of  the  hour.  Lilith  had  never 
in  her  life  been  swayed;  never  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second  had  she  been  uncertain  of  her  own  mind ; 
all  the  temptations  in  the  world  could  not  lure  her 
a  step  from  a  premeditated  path,  but  because  Na- 
ture had  cast  her  in  a  fragile  mould,  and  given  her 
flaxen  hair  and  a  baby  skin,  and  minute  morsels  of 

140 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    141 

hands  and  feet,  the  world  adopted  protective  airs 
towards  her  and  spoke  of  her  approvingly  as 
"sweet  and  gentle." 

Francis  Manning,  the  first  of  the  two  men  to 
make  a  declaration  of  love,  was  a  big  giant  of  a 
man  with  a  handsome  face,  an  amiable  disposition, 
and  a  supreme  concern  for  his  own  well-being.  He 
had  reached  the  age  and  position  when  it  seemed 
desirable  to  marry,  and,  that  being  the  case,  there 
was  no  doubt  upon  whom  his  choice  would  fall. 

For  years  past  Lilith  Wastneys  had  stood  to 
Francis  as  a  type  of  all  that  was  sweet  and  desirable 
in  women.  In  his  eyes  she  was  beautiful,  though 
in  reality  she  had  no  claim  to  the  title.  The  love- 
light  in  his  eyes  transformed  her  pale  locks  into 
gold,  her  colourless  eyes  into  deepest  blue;  her 
height  was  to  him  "just  as  high  as  my  heart"; 
her  low  voice,  her  drooping  lids,  her  noiseless 
movements — each  and  all  appeared  to  him  the 
perfection  of  their  kind. 

Francis  was  whole-heartedly  in  love,  but  it  was 
not  in  his  nature  to  be  otherwise  than  leisurely. 
While  a  more  impetuous  lover  would  have  hastened 
to  put  his  fate  to  the  test,  he  was  content  to  con- 
tinue the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  indulge  in  confident 
dreams  of  the  future,  and  leave  it  to  fate  to  decide 
the  moment  of  avowal.  Nothing  on  earth  was 


142  What  a  Man  Wills 

farther  from  his  suspicions  than  the  fact  that  it 
was  Lilith  herself,  who,  in  the  ultimate  moment, 
played  the  part  of  fate. 

She  wore  a  white  dress.  Lilith  invariably  wore 
white  in  the  evening,— --simple,  little  white  satin 
frocks  devoid  of  ornament,  save  for  a  soft  swathing 
of  tulle,  from  which  her  shoulders  arose,  fair  and 
rounded.  Whatever  might  be  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  that  soft  swathe  of  tulle  was  in  its  place; 
however  puffed  and  waved  might  be  the  coiffure 
of  the  other  women  in  the  room,  Lilith's  flaxen 
locks  were  always  smooth  and  demure.  There 
was  a  distinction  in  such  simplicity.  People  looked 
at  her  and  questioned.  They  watched  her  with  puz- 
zled eyes.  Was  she  pretty?  Certainly  not  pretty. 
Did  they  admire  her?  They  were  not  at  all  sure 
that  they  did.  But  there  was  something  about  her  ! 

It  was  Lilith  who  led  the  way  into  the  palm- 
shaded  retreat,  and  chose  the  most  secluded  corner. 
She  and  Francis  were  engaged  to  dance  the  next 
number  together,  but  she  pleaded  fatigue,  and 
they  sat  alone  in  the  dimness. 

"Who  was  that  dissipated-looking  fellow  who 
took  you  in  to  supper?  I  wanted  to  take  you  my- 
self, but  he  was  too  quick  for  me.  Rather  a 
striking-looking  head,  if  he  were  not  such  a  terrible 
waster!" 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power   143 

"His  name  is  Lowther. " 

Francis  straightened  himself,  startled  into  vivid 
attention. 

"Lowther/  Hereward  Lowther — that's  how  I 
knew  his  face!  I've  seen  it  in  caricatures.  The 
idea  of  meeting  Lowther  here !  I  should  not  have 
thought  dances  were  in  his  line. " 

"He  does  not  dance." 

"Then  why  on  earth  does  he  trouble  to  come?" 

Lilith  did  not  answer.  She  knew;  but  had  no 
intention  of  sharing  her  knowledge,  and  Francis 
was  too  much  engrossed  in  his  own  reflections  to 
pursue  the  question. 

"So  that  is  Lowther!  Good  heavens,  how  ex- 
cited I  should  have  been  two  or  three  years  ago 
at  the  idea  of  meeting  him  in  the  same  room !  Sad 
how  that  man  has  fizzled  out !  He  promised  such 
big  things,  bigger  things  than  any  other  man  of  his 
day.  I've  heard  him  singled  out  a  score  of  times 
as  the  man  who  was  going  to  save  England,  and 
now" — he  shrugged,  and  flicked  his  large  fingers — 
"it's  all  over;  nothing  left  but  the  wreck  of  a  man. 
Drugs,  they  say.  Something  of  the  sort  evidently ; 
he  carries  it  in  his  face.  Not  the  sort  of  man  for 
you  to  have  anything  to  do  with,  little  girl!" 

Francis's  voice  dropped  to  a  tender  note  as  he 
spoke  the  last  words,  and  Lilith  lifted  her  heavy 


144  What  a  Man  Wills 

lids  and  smiled  at  him  with  gentle  sweetness.  It 
was  seldom  that  he  had  obtained  more  than  a 
glimpse  of  those  downcast  eyes,  but  now  they  met 
his  and  held  them  in  a  lingering  look  which  sent 
the  blood  racing  through  his  veins.  Suddenly, 
imperatively,  the  patience  of  years  was  broken, 
and  hot  words  flowed  from  his  lips.  He  loved  her; 
she  was  the  sweetest,  the  dearest  of  women.  For 
years  he  had  loved  her;  he  would  love  her  all  his 
life ;  would  live  only  to  serve  her.  It  was  his  own 
feelings  on  which  he  enlarged;  his  own  feelings, 
which  were  obviously  of  the  first  importance.  In 
his  ardour  there  was  no  hint  of  anxiety.  He  was 
in  love,  but  confidently  in  love.  He  had  but  to 
speak,  and  she  would  come  fluttering  to  his  arms. 

But  he  wooed  her  well,  denying  her  no  tittle  of 
her  woman's  kingdom.  He  held  her  hands  in  his, 
and  his  big  voice  softened  tenderly  as  he  made  his 
vows. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  you, — such  care  as  was  never 
taken  of  a  woman  before !  You  are  not  fit  to  stand 
alone;  you  are  too  gentle  and  fragile.  You  want 
a  big  fellow  like  me  to  stand  between  you  and  the 
world.  It  shall  be  my  work  in  life  to  shield  you, 
and  keep  you  sheltered  and  safe.  Only  trust  your- 
self to  me,  and  you  will  see.  You  will  trust  your- 
self, won't  you,  darling?  I'm  not  rich,  but  we 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    145 

should  be  comfortable  enough.  You  are  not  the 
sort  of  girl  to  be  ambitious,  and,  you  do  love  me, 
Lilith!" 

Lilith  smiled,  but  she  left  her  hand  in  his,  and  a 
tinge  of  colour  showed  in  the  pale  cheeks. 

"I  think  I  do  love  you,  Francis! "  she  said  slowly. 

Francis  pressed  her  hand  in  acknowledgment. 
Unbroken  confidence  had  deprived  him  of  the  great 
thrill  which  comes  to  most  men  at  the  knowledge 
that  they  are  beloved ;  but  one  cannot  have  every- 
thing in  this  world,  and  if  the  choice  had  been  his, 
he  would  unhesitatingly  have  plumped  for  the 
greater  ease.  He  pressed  her  hand,  and  bent  over 
her  tenderly. 

"My  darling  girl!  You  make  me  very  happy. 
You  shall  never  regret  it,  I'll  promise  you  that. 
.  .  .  Look  at  your  little  mite  of  a  hand  lying 
in  mine!  ...  I  could  crush  it  to  pieces  with 
one  clutch  from  my  big  paw.  They  are  a  type  of 
the  difference  between  us — those  two  hands — I 
so  big,  and  strong,  and  you  such  a  little  slip  of  a 
weak,  helpless  thing. " 

Lilith  bent  her  head  on  one  side,  and  looked 
down  with  a  smile.  She  lifted  her  tiny  fingers  and 
softly  stroked  the  giant  hand. 

"Why  do  you  love  me,  Francis?" 

"Because  I  can't  help  it!"    returned   Francis 


146  What  a  Man  Wills 

promptly.  "Good  heavens,  Lilith,  if  you  knew 
how  thankful  a  fellow  is  to  meet  a  good  old-fash- 
ioned girl!  I'm  fed  up  with  these  modern  speci- 
mens, who  set  themselves  up  to  be  equal  with  men, 
and  push  and  drive  to  force  themselves  to  the 
front,  instead  of  being  content  with  the  place  which 
Nature  has  given  them.  I  couldn't  stick  a  modern 
woman.  I  want  a  wife  who  will  let  me  judge  for 
her,  and  be  thankful  to  have  my  protection — like 
you,  you  little  darling!  You  are  everything 
that  a  woman  ought  to  be.  .  .  .  And  why  do 
you  love  me?  " 

"Because  you  are  so  big,  and  so  handsome,  and 
so" — Lilith  laughed,  a  tinkling,  girlish  laugh, 
which  took  the  sting  from  the  word — "stupid!" 
She  bent  nearer  to  him,  with  a  caressing  gesture, 
and  Francis  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and 
laughed  in  sympathy.  The  dear,  wee  mite! 
What  nonsense  she  did  talk! 

"  I  don't  care  what  is  your  reason,  so  long  as  you 
do  love  me.  And  how  soon  will  you  be  ready  to 
marry  your  stupid  man?" 

"Do  people  always  marry  the  people  they  love? " 
Lilith  asked  innocently ;  and  Francis  said  they  did ; 
of  course  they  did.  What  else  was  there  for  them 
to  do? 

He   remembered  afterwards  that   though   the 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    147 

conversation  which  followed  was  entirely  agree- 
able to  his  feelings,  Lilith  had  persistently  avoided 
a  definite  promise. 

The  next  morning  a  letter  was  handed  in  at  the 
door  of  his  chambers.  It  was  in  Lilith's  writing, 
and  ran  as  follows: 

"DEAR  FRANCIS, — 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Hereward  Lowther.  He  asked 
me  last  night,  just  after  you,  and  I  said  'Yes.' 
Thank  you  so  much  for  all  your  kindness.  It 
would  have  been  very  nice,  but  I  feel  sure  that 
we  should  not  have  suited. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"  LILITH  WASTNEYS.  " 

The  engagement  of  Hereward  Lowther  caused 
some  excitement  in  the  political  world,  across 
which  he  had  made  so  meteoric  a  flight.  Of  no 
one  of  the  younger  men  in  the  House  had  so  much 
been  hoped.  His  first  speech  was  still  quoted  as 
the  most  brilliant  effort  of  the  kind  within  the 
memory  of  the  present  generation,  while  his  tact 
and  his  charm  had  seemed  little  inferior  to  his 
ability.  Poor,  brilliant,  unhappy  Lowther,  his 
was  but  another  name  added  to  the  list  of  the  men 


148  What  a  Man  Wills 

of  genius  who  have  been  their  own  worst  enemies ! 
So  rapid  had  been  his  downfall,  so  flagrant  his 
avoidance  of  duty,  that  his  friends  were  convinced 
that  his  constituency  would  not  return  him  a 
second  time. 

And  now,  with  the  shock  of  the  unexpected, 
came  the  news  of  his  matrimonial  engagement. 
The  chorus  of  disapproval  was  loud,  but  the 
Chief  frowned  thoughtfully,  and  reserved  his 
opinion. 

"  If  she  is  the  right  woman,  it  may  be  the  saving 
of  him  yet .  Who  is  she  ?  Does  anyone  know  ? ' ' 

"Her  name  is  Wastneys;  daughter  of  a  country 
squire  down  in  Cornwall.  Good  enough  family, 
so  far  as  that  goes. " 

"And  the  girl  herself?" 

"Oh,  a  doll!  Insignificant  creature,  with 
washed-out  colouring.  Not  even  good  looking. 
Heavy  and  dull;  not  a  word  to  say." 

tThe  Chief  sighed. 

"That,"  he  said  slowly,  "is  the  end  of  Lowther! 
The  man  is  doomed." 

During  the  weeks  of  the  honeymoon  Hereward 
Lowther 's  thoughts  were  exercised  with  a  problem 
which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  presents  no  difficulty 
to  the  average  bridegroom. 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    149 

"  Why  had  he  married  his  wife  ?  " 

During  the  few  months  which  had  elapsed  since 
his  introduction  to  Lilith  Wastneys,  Lowther  had 
been  conscious  of  a  reluctant  admiration,  which 
was  strangely  akin  to  antipathy.  There  had  been 
occasions  when  he  had  definitely  decided  that 
he  disliked  the  girl,  yet  the  decision  had  no  mitigat- 
ing effect  on  his  desire  to  see  her  again  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment.  But  he  was  certain,  look- 
ing back  over  the  time  from  the  first  meeting  on  the 
golf  links,  to  that  last  evening  in  the  palm-shaded 
retreat  at  the  ball,  he  was  definitely,  absolutely, 
certain  that  the  idea  of  marriage  had  never  entered 
his  head. 

How,  then,  had  he  become  engaged?  How  had 
it  happened  that  he  left  that  ball  pledged  to  live 
side  by  side  with  this  strange,  silent  girl,  till  death 
did  them  part?  Honestly,  Hereward  did  not 
know.  There  had  been  a  flirtation,  of  course,  if 
such  a  demure,  well-conducted  affair  could  be 
called  a  flirtation.  The  girl  had  looked  unusually 
feminine  and  attractive  in  the  dim  light,  and,  this 
was  the  crux! — she  had  seemed  to  expect  it.  Some 
power  of  expectancy  had  driven  him  on  until  he 
had  spoken  the  fateful  words,  for  in  these  days  of 
languor  and  depression,  Lowther  had  lost  the 
power  of  resistance,  and  the  easiest  course  seemed 


150  What  a  Man  Wills 

invariably  the  best.  He  was  conscious  of  his  own 
demoralization,  but  the  misery  of  the  conscious- 
ness had  no  vivifying  effect;  it  rather  drove  him 
back  to  his  drugs.  So  in  this  instance  he  had 
drifted  on,  and  in  a  moment's  weakness  had 
sacrificed  his  freedom. 

Yes!  that  was  what  it  came  to;  that  was  the 
disgraceful  fact.  He  had  married  this  girl  be- 
cause she  had  desired  it,  and  he  was  too  lazy  to 
resist.  Lowther  acknowledged  the  fact  with  a 
shrug,  but  immediately  afterwards  arose  a  second 
problem,  hardly  less  incomprehensible  than  the 
first. 

Why  had  Lilith  married  him  ? 

She  did  not  love  him.  The  man  had  soon  re- 
cognized that  fact,  and  it  had  brought  an  unex- 
pected stab  of  pain.  If  she  had  loved  him,  as 
some  women  can  love,  she  might  have — helped! 
But  she  was  cold  as  ice.  Even  his  own  lukewarm 
endearments  had  proved  unacceptable;  there  was 
evidently  no  personal  attraction  to  explain  the 
mystery  of  her  marriage  with  a  man  who  was  an 
historic  failure. 

They  had  been  married  a  week,  and  were  sitting 
in  the  garden  of  a  foreign  hotel,  discussing  a  pos- 
sible excursion,  when  Lilith  startled  her  husband 
by  a  sudden  question.  Her  voice,  as  she  spoke, 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    151 

was  low  and  unperturbed ;  her  face  showed  a  gentle 
smile,  nevertheless  that  question  smote  upon  Low- 
ther's  ears  like  the  crack  of  a  whip. 

"At  what  time,"  asked  Lilith  calmly,  "do  you 
next  take  your  morphia?" 

He  turned  upon  her,  furious,  ashamed, 
stammering  the  inevitable  pitiful  denial. 

"Wh-at  do  you  mean?  Morphia — I!  Who 
says  I  take  morphia?" 

"  Everybody  says  it.  Everybody  knows.  Don't 
distress  yourself,  Hereward.  I  only  wished  to 
know  your  hours.  It  is  better,  isn't  it,  that  we 
should  plan  our  expeditions  for  the  times  when 
you  are  most — most " 

"Most  what?'' 

"Normal!  The  morphia  naturally  is  soothing, 
but  while  it  is  working  would  it  not  be  better  if 
you  were — alone?" 

"You  are  talking  nonsense.  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about.  If  you  understood 
anything  about  the  working  of  morphia,  you  would 
realize  that  after  a  dose  one  feels  stimulated,  re- 
freshed. I  am  never  so  well  as  immediately 
after " 

"I'm  sorry.  I  am  ignorant,  as  you  say.  Then 
we  had  better  start  our  excursion  immediately 
after  an  injection.  That  is,  if  we  can  manage 


152  What  a  Man  Wills 

to  do  it  in  the  time.  How  long  is  it  before  the — 
er — other  stage  comes  on?" 

"What  other  stage?" 

"The — drunken  stage!"  Lilith  answered. 

He  hated  her  at  that  moment.  A  fury  of  anger 
rushed  through  his  veins.  He  leaped  from  his  seat 
and  paced  the  path  with  impetuous  steps.  With 
the  cane  in  his  hand  he  smote  fiercely  at  the  en- 
circling shrubs.  All  the  lethargy  of  the  past  months 
disappeared;  he  was  alive  again,  smartingly  alive, 
face  to  face  with  his  shame. 

"Who  dares  to  say  that  I  am  drunk?  It  is  a 
lie!  When  have  you  seen  me  drunk?" 

"Should  I  have  said  'drugged'?  I'm  sorry. 
I'm  so  ignorant,  you  see.  I  didn't  know.  Of 
course,  if  you  say  so,  there  is  a  difference. " 

He  swung  away  from  her,  and  entering  the  hotel 
mounted  the  stairs  to  his  own  room.  In  his 
present  condition  of  mind  he  dared  not — literally 
dared  not — trust  himself  within  sight  of  his  fellows. 
Up  and  down  the  quiet  room  he  paced,  like  a  wild 
animal  in  its  cage,  his  mind  seething  with  rage 
and  indignation  against  his  wife,  against  the  world, 
against  himself.  It  was  as  though  a  bandage  had 
fallen,  and  his  sleep-ridden  eyes  were  suddenly 
galvanized  into  life.  He  looked  back  along  the  slop- 
ing path  and  perceived  how  far  he  had  fallen.  .  .  . 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    153 

It  was  nearing  the  time  for  his  next  injection. 
Automatically  he  took  the  tabloids  from  the  bottle, 
and  carried  them  across  the  room  to  dissolve  them 
in  a  glass  of  water.  As  he  did  so,  he  passed  the 
window  and  caught  sight  of  his  wife's  figure  seated 
in  the  same  position  as  that  in  which  he  had  left 
her  ten  minutes  before.  How  young  she  looked! 
Almost  a  child  in  her  simple  white  frock.  The 
sun  shone  down  on  her  flaxen  locks,  on  one  tiny 
hand  extended  on  the  seat  by  her  side.  Something 
gripped  at  the  man's  heart  at  the  sight  of  that  hand ; 
it  looked  so  small,  so  helpless,  so  appealing.  The 
poor  girl!  On  her  honeymoon!  What  a  bitter 
disillusionment  must  be  hers!  With  a  sudden 
sweeping  movement  his  hand  flew  outward,  and  the 
tabloids  hurled  through  the  air  and  buried  them- 
selves in  the  grass  below.  The  next  moment 
Lowther  himself  descended  to  the  garden,  and 
seated  himself  by  his  wife's  side. 

"Lilith, "  he  said  humbly,  "I'm  sorry!  I  was  a 
beast  to  speak  to  you  as  I  did,  but  you  know  a  man 
doesn't  like  interference.  Forgive  me,  like  a  good 
girl,  and — I'll  tell  you  something  in  return!  It 
was  time  for  my  morphia,  but  I've  not  taken  it. 
I'm  going  out  with  you  instead.  .  .  .  Shall  we 
start?" 

She  lifted   her   eyes   and   looked   at   him.     It 


154  What  a  Man  Wills 

seemed  to  him  that  he  looked  upon  a  new  woman. 
Her  eyes  were  no  longer  light,  but  dark  and  shining. 
They  were  bent  upon  him  with  an  expression  which 
sent  the  blood  rushing  through  his  veins.  There 
was  triumph  in  that  look,  and  an  immense,  un- 
utterable relief,  but  there  was  tenderness  also,  the 
tenderness  of  a  mother  towards  a  struggling  child. 
The  remembrance  of  that  look  remained  with 
Lowther  and  helped  him  through  the  inevitable 
discomforts  of  the  next  hours.  Lilith  spoke  but 
little;  he  was  thankful  to  her  for  her  silence,  but 
once  and  again  when  his  restlessness  grew  acute, 
she  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm  and  pushed  it 
forward,  so  that  her  fingers  clasped  his  wrist.  The 
little  hand  was  warm  to  the  touch.  It  was  as 
though  some  vital  force  passed  from  her  veins  to 
his,  calming,  invigorating. 

Only  once  did  Lilith  touch  on  the  subject  of 
politics.  She  asked  her  husband  what  was  likely 
to  be  the  predominant  question  of  the  next  session. 
He  told  her  that  it  would  be  the  Land  Bill,  long 
deferred,  but  inevitable :  a  Bill  on  which  the  House 
was  sharply  divided,  which  would  call  forth  a  heat 
of  argument.  He  answered  curtly,  with  an  evi- 
dent distaste,  and  she  never  renewed  the  subject. 
Lowther  thanked  Providence  for  a  wife  with  tact. 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    155 

They  roamed  about,  from  one  country  to 
another — Belgium,  Holland,  France,  Germany, 
Italy,  the  Tyrol,  taking  by  preference  untrodden 
paths,  putting  up  at  quiet  country  inns,  enjoying 
the  study  of  peasant  life.  Lilith  declared  that  she 
was  tired  of  cities,  had  seen  enough  show  places  to 
last  her  life;  now  she  needed  a  rest.  How  badly 
Lowther  himself  had  needed  a  rest  was  proved  by 
his  altered  appearance  after  a  few  weeks  of  a 
leisurely  life  passed  in  fresh,  pure  air.  Never 
again  had  the  subject  of  morphia  been  mentioned 
between  himself  and  his  wife,  but  the  doses  were 
steadily  diminishing.  There  had  been  one  whole 
day  when  he  had  taken  no  injection  at  all!  He 
wondered  at  the  coincidence  which  had  made 
Lilith  so  tender  on  that  day!  If  it  had  not  been 
for  her  tenderness,  for  the  clasp  of  that  small, 
warm  hand,  he  doubted  if  he  could  have  lasted  out. 
He  was  no  longer  so  sure  that  he  did  not  love  his 
wife.  He  was  grateful  to  her  for  her  tact  and  for- 
bearance. He  was  beginning  to  look  forward  to 
her  rare  tenderness;  as  a  reward  for  which  it  were 
worth  while  to  endure. 

Both  Lowther  and  his  wife  were  clever  linguists, 
and  he  was  amused  to  discover  that,  quiet  as  was 
her  nature,  she  possessed  the  rare  gift  of  making 
friends  with  the  humble  folk  of  the  different  coun- 


156  What  a  Man  Wills 

tries  through  which  they  passed,  and  of  drawing 
forth  their  confidence.  Many  an  evening  was 
spent  in  conversation  with  "mine  host"  as  he 
enjoyed  his  leisurely  smoke  at  the  end  of  the  day's 
work,  and  "mine  host"  was  an  interesting  talker, 
with  his  tales  of  the  country  side,  from  the  lordly 
baron  in  his  rock-bound  castle,  to  the  humblest 
tenant  upon  his  land.  Many  talks  were  held  also 
during  the  day-time,  with  the  labourers  in  the 
fields,  with  the  farmers  who  supplied  milk  and 
bread,  and  who  beamed  in  appreciation  of  the 
largesse  bestowed  by  the  English  milord  and  his 
wife.  There  were  charming  stories  to  be  told — 
stories  of  affection  and  kindliness  between  the 
tenants  and  the  lord  of  the  soil,  of  a  simple,  feudal 
loyalty  which  sounded  like  a  page  from  a  fairy- 
tale of  old'  but  there  were  tragedies  also — 
stories  of  injustice  and  tyranny,  of  suffering  and 
want.  They  were  simple  people,  and  they  told 
their  tales  simply  and  well,  delivering  themselves 
in  conclusion,  of  a  pathetic  apology.  "It  was  a 
pity ....  Things  were  not  as  bad  as  they  had 
been.  In  England,  of  course,  it  was  different. 
The  peasants  in  England  had  no  such  trials  to 
endure!" 

Lilith  sat  listening  while  her  husband  explained 
that  England  had  her  own  land  troubles.     Her 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    157 

sleepy  eyes  expressed  but  little  interest;  but  now 
and  again  she  would  put  a  searching  question  which 
cut  to  the  very  heart  of  the  matter,  and  set  him 
talking  afresh.  Wherever  they  went  the  same 
subject  recurred,  and  fresh  differences  were  dis- 
cussed ;  but  these  conversations  were  but  incidents 
in  the  day's  doings.  From  private  conversation 
politics  were  banished. 

At  the  end  of  the  honeymoon  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hereward  Lowther  returned  to  town  and  took  up 
their  abode  in  a  small  flat  in  Westminster.  The 
choice  was  made  by  Lilith,  as  indeed  was  every 
choice  in  those  days  of  Lowther's  weakness.  She 
confessed  to  an  affection  for  Westminster,  for  the 
quaint,  old-fashioned  nooks  and  corners  which  still 
remain,  tucked  behind  the  busy  thoroughfares; 
for  the  picturesque  precincts  of  the  Abbey.  West- 
minster was  at  once  central,  convenient,  and  old- 
world.  She  was  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  its 
advantages  as  a  dwelling-place,  but  she  never 
alluded  to  the  vicinity  of  St.  Stephen's. 

After  his  return  to  town  Lowther  passed  through 
a  somewhat  severe  relapse.  Face  to  face  with  the 
old  conditions  he  grew  nervous  and  despondent, 
and  had  more  frequent  recourse  to  his  drug,  but 
there  was  this  great  difference  between  his  present 


158  What  a  Man  Wills 

condition  and  the  past,  that  whereas  he  had  been 
indifferent,  now  he  was  penitent,  remorseful,  ut- 
terly ashamed.  Lilith  never  reproached  him  for 
his  lapses,  she  nursed  him  assiduously  through 
the  subsequent  weakness;  she  checked  him  when 
he  would  have  made  faltering  apologies. 

"We  won't  talk  about  it.  It  is  not  worth  while. 
It  will  pass!"  she  said  quietly,  and  as  she  spoke, 
her  strange,  expressionless  eyes  gazed  into  his,  and 
he  found  himself  murmuring  in  agreement.  "Yes, 
it  will  pass!"  Never  once,  so  far  as  he  could  dis- 
cover, did  any  doubt  concerning  the  future  enter 
his  wife's  head.  She  must  certainly  have  heard 
that  when  a  man  takes  to  drugs  it  is  almost  a 
miracle  if  he  is  enabled  to  break  the  habit,  yet  her 
confidence  remained  unshaken.  Throughout  the 
darkest  day,  throughout  the  bitterest  disappoint- 
ment, she  remained  serenely  unmoved.  Always, 
in  speaking  of  the  future,  she  envisaged  Lowther 
as  strong,  confident,  successful,  until  by  degrees 
the  image  printed  itself  on  his  own  brain,  and  the 
old  distrust  began  to  disappear. 

The  House  opened,  a  week  passed  by,  and  Low- 
ther made  no  sign  of  taking  his  seat.  Lilith 
remained  silent ;  it  seemed  the  result  of  accident 
that  engagements  lessened  more  and  more,  so  that 
he  found  himself  unoccupied,  sitting  in  the  little 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    159 

flat,  listening  to  the  chimes  of  Big  Ben,  following  in 
imagination  the  doings  within  the  Second  Cham- 
ber, while  hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  a  mysterious 
power  seemed  forcing  him  onward,  urging  him  to 
arouse  himself  from  his  stupor,  and  go  forth  once 
more  into  the  arena. 

One  evening  husband  and  wife  sat  alone  to- 
gether in  the  little  drawing-room  of  the  flat. 
Lowther  was  smoking,  and  making  a  pretence  of 
reading  a  review,  Lilith  sat  by  the  open  window, 
her  hands  folded  on  her  lap.  She  had  none  of  the 
nervous,  fidgety  movements  to  which  most  women 
are  subject  in  moments  of  idleness,  but  could  re- 
main motionless  as  a  statue  for  half  an  hour  on 
end,  her  lids  drooped  over  her  quiet  eyes.  It  was 
no  interruption  on  his  wife's  part  which  caused 
Lowther' s  increasing  restlessness;  even  when  the 
book  was  thrown  down,  and  he  took  to  pacing 
hurriedly  up  and  down,  she  remained  passive 
and  immovable. 

Suddenly  Lowther  drew  up  by  her  side,  laid  a 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Lilith!  I'm  going.  .  .  To  the  House. 
Would  you  come?  I  think  it  would  help  me  if 
you  would  come  too. " 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  acknowledged 
in  words  the  mysterious  truth  that  in  his  wife's 


i6o  What  a  Man  Wills 

presence  he  felt  stronger,  freer  from  temptation. 
His  hand  lingered  on  her  shoulder  with  a  caressing 
touch,  and  Lilith  turned  her  head  so  that  for  a 
fleeting  moment  her  cheek  rested  against  his 
fingers.  Her  assent  was  a  matter  of  course;  she 
wasted  no  breath  on  that,  but,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  she  spoke  a  few  words,  which  to  Lowther's 
bruised  spirit,  were  as  water  to  a  fainting  man: 
"I  am  so  proud  of  you,  Here  ward!" 

The  session  had  begun,  and  the  Land  Bill  was 
occupying  the  attention  of  the  House.  The  two 
leaders  had  delivered  themselves  of  strong  oppos- 
ing speeches,  and  the  Bill  was  open  for  discussion. 
One  member  after  another  rose  from  the  crowded 
benches.  A  few  of  the  number  spoke  well  and  to 
the  point,  and  were  acclaimed  with  applause;  but 
the  greater  number  repeated  old  arguments,  and 
failed  to  throw  fresh  light  on  the  vexed  problem. 
The  House  listened  with  resigned  impatience. 

In  a  corner  of  the  Ladies'  Gallery  sat  a  small 
figure  with  an  aureole  of  flaxen  hair.  She  leaned 
forward  on  her  seat,  her  hands  clasped  together, 
her  eyes  fixed  in  a  deep,  unblinking  gaze  at  a  man 
on  the  opposite  benches.  He  was  a  striking- 
looking  man,  still  young,  yet  with  an  air  of  deli- 
cacy and  strain.  An  onlooker  observing  him  at 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    161 

this  moment  would  have  noticed  that  from  time  to 
time  he  stirred  uneasily,  and  cast  a  glance  upwards 
at  the  grille  of  the  Ladies'  Gallery.  As  each  speaker 
in  succession  finished  his  speech  and  sat  down, 
this  man  stirred  more  forcibly,  as  though  combat- 
ing an  impulse  which  increased  in  violence,  and 
eventually  he  was  on  his  feet;  had  caught  the 
Speaker's  eyes. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence  throughout  the 
House.  Lowther!  How  long  was  it,  how  many 
years  since  Lowther  had  essayed  a  speech?  What 
had  happened  to  spur  him  to  such  an  effort? 
This  was  his  first  appearance  since  the  beginning 
of  the  session,  and  though  he  was  obviously  im- 
proved in  health  he  had  avoided  private  conversa- 
tion, and  kept  shrinkingly  to  himself.  And  now — 
a  speech!  With  characteristic  loyalty  to  a  man 
who  has  done  good  work  in  past  days,  the  House 
prayed  that  Lowther  knew  what  he  was  about, 
and  was  not  going  to  make  an  exhibition  of 
himself. 

But  now  he  was  speaking,  and  the  old  charm  was 
at  work.  The  members  listened  with  surprise  to 
the  old  well-turned  sentences,  the  old  masterly 
style;  felt  again  the  charm  of  the  old  ingenuous 
manner.  And  he  was  speaking  to  the  point,  with 
an  expert's  width  of  knowledge  which  held  the 


162  What  a  Man  Wills 

House.  "On  this  point  of  tenure  might  it  not 
be  well  to  take  a  hint  from  Italy?  ...  In 
Italy,  etc.,  etc."  "In  Holland  there  was  a  special 
exemption  which  was  worthy  of  note  .  .  . 
"In  the  province  of  Lombardy  the  tenants  retained 
the  right  .  .  .  "  The  land  problems  of  Europe 
seemed  at  his  finger-ends ;  he  handled  them  not  as 
a  politician  informed  by  dry,  written  statements, 
but  as  living  things,  seen  through  living  eyes.  He 
had  apt  illustrations  to  present  with  the  readiness 
of  first-hand  knowledge;  he  had,  as  a  sum  total, 
one  illuminating  suggestion,  and  the  House  cheered 
him  with  a  ringing  cheer. 

That  cheer  sounded  in  Lowther's  ears  like  the 
opening  of  a  great  gate,  a  gate  which  his  own  hands 
had  closed.  Through  its  portals  he  beheld  once 
more  the  castles  of  his  dreams,  and  took  heart  to 
walk  forward. 

Lilith  greeted  him  with  a  smile  of  congratulation, 
but  the  drive  home  was  accomplished  in  silence. 
It  was  late  when  they  arrived  at  their  modest  flat. 
The  servants  had  retired  to  bed,  leaving  a  table  of 
refreshments  drawn  up  before  the  drawing-room 
fire.  Lilith  took  off  her  cloak  and  sat  down,  but 
Lowther  went  straight  to  his  own  room.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  returned,  and,  closing  the  door 
behind  him,  stood  silently  behind  her  chair.  She 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    163 

could  hear  the  quick  intake  of  his  breath,  but  she 
waited  motionless  until  he  should  speak. 

At  last  it  came. 

"  Lilith !  I  have  something  I  want  to  give  you. 
Something  for  you — to  keep !  Put  out  your  hand.' ' 

Still  silent,  still  with  eyes  averted,  she  held  out 
her  hand  towards  him.  Something  cold  clicked 
against  the  palm,  something  long  and  thin.  She 
opened  her  fingers,  and  beheld  a  morphia  syringe. 

"I — I  shan't  need  it  any  more,"  stammered  the 
voice.  A  hand,  Lowther's  hand,  came  over  her 
shoulder,  mutely  making  appeal.  Lilith  dropped 
the  syringe,  and  caught  the  hand  to  her  breast. 

The  next  minute  he  was  kneeling  at  her  feet, 
and  the  two  were  gazing  deep  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"Lilith,"  cried  Lowther  brokenly,  "it — it  will 
be  hard.  .  .  I  shall  have  a  hard  fight.  Do 
you  think  you  could  love  me  a  little,  Lilith?" 

"I  must  love  you,"  answered  Lilith  deeply,  "a 
great  deal,  or  it  will  be  no  use!" 

It  was  five  years  later  when  the  Opposition  came 
into  power,  and  it  surprised  nobody  when  Here- 
ward  Lowther  was  given  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet. 
During  those  five  years  husband  and  wife  had  lived 
quietly  in  their  little  flat,  going  but  little  into 
society,  affecting  few  of  the  amusements  of  the  day. 


164  What  a  Man  Wills 

When  Parliament  was  sitting,  Lilith  was  a  constant 
visitor  to  the  Ladies'  Gallery,  and  it  was  noted  that 
her  husband  never  spoke  when  she  was  absent. 
In  holiday  time  her  chief  interest  lay  in  the  study 
of  the  problems  of  modern  life;  but,  as  on  that  first 
tour  abroad,  she  studied  first-hand,  and  not 
through  the  medium  of  books.  Lowther  felt  it  an 
extraordinary  coincidence  that  her  inquiries  so 
often  proved  of  value  to  himself,  and  always,  under 
every  circumstance,  Lilith's  immovable  serenity 
was  as  a  rock,  against  which  his  weaker,  more 
excitable  nature  found  support.  Lowther  ques- 
tioned himself  sometimes  as  to  the  explanation  of 
his  wife's  unshaken  calm,  and  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  sprang  from  a  certain  obtuseness  or 
stupidity  of  brain,  but  he  smiled  as  he  mentally 
voiced  the  thought,  and  his  smile  was  tender.  He 
loved  his  wife;  she  was  a  dear  girl,  tactful,  unas- 
suming. He  was  thankful  that  she  was  not  clever. 
Five  years  spread  a  kindly  veil  over  the  public 
memory,  and  there  were  few  people  who  troubled 
to  recall  Lowther's  temporary  lapse.  That  was  an 
affair  of  the  past.  What  mattered  now  was  that 
he  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  valuable  men 
in  the  House,  and  that  the  country  needed  his 
services.  As  a  politician  he  was  able  and  states- 
manlike, but  he  was  a  politician  second  and  a 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Power    165 

patriot  first.  The  glory  of  office  counted  for 
nothing  with  him  in  comparison  with  the  glory  of 
his  native  land,  and  the  country  recognized  his 
honesty  and  loved  him  for  it.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Cabinet  now,  but  as  certainly  as  he  lived  he 
would  be  Prime  Minister  another  day.  As  he 
walked  through  the  streets  the  people  pointed  him 
out  to  each  other. 

"  That's  Lowther.  Our  best  man.  He'll  be  Prime 
Minister  before  he's  done.  The  sooner  the  better. 
A  straight,  fair  man.  The  man  we  want.  What  a 
position  for  a  man  to  gain  by  sheer  personal  force 
—the  virtual  ruler  over  a  fifth  part  of  the  world! 
What  power,  my  dear  fellow — what  power!" 

"You  may  say  so,  indeed;  extraordinary 
power!" 


VI 

THE    MAN    WHO     WISHED     FOR     COMFORT 

IT  seemed  hard  to  Francis  Manning  that  he,  who 
had  asked  of  fate  nothing  more  exorbitant  than 
an  easy,  comfortable  existence,  should  have  been 
called  on  to  endure  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable 
of  experiences — that  of  being  jilted  by  the  girl 
to  whom  he  had  believed  himself  engaged  to  be 
married !  For  years  past  he  had  intended  to  many 
Lilith  Wastneys,  and  when  he  told  his  love  she  had 
been  everything  that  was  sweet  and  complaisant, 
had  said,  in  so  many  words,  that  she  loved  him  in 
return.  He  had  gone  home  feeling  the  happiest 
man  in  the  world,  had  lain  awake  for  a  solid  hour 
by  the  clock,  rejoicing  in  his  happiness,  and  the 
very  next  morning,  behold  a  letter  to  tell  him  that 
she  was  engaged  to  another  man ! 

Francis  could  not  endure  to  recall  the  shock, 
the  misery,  the  discomfort,  of  that  hour.  If 
the  news  had  come  from  another  source  he  would 
have  refused  to  believe  it;  but  it  was  Lilith 

166 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   167 

herself  who  wrote,  so  there  was  no  loophole  of 
escape. 

During  the  following  days  he  felt  stunned  and 
wretched.  His  heart  was  wounded,  but  he  was  not 
sentimental  by  nature,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  could  have  schooled  his  heart  into  subjection 
if  it  had  not  been  for — for  the  other  things !  There 
did  not  seem  a  single  interest  in  life  which  this 
wretched  disillusionment  had  left  untouched.  To 
begin  with,  there  was  his  work.  He  had  worked  for 
a  home  in  which  Lilith  should  live  as  his  wife. 
Work  seemed  suddenly  dull  and  purposeless  now 
that  the  proposed  home  had  crumbled  into  ruins. 
Then,  as  regards  amusement — he  had  grown  into 
the  habit  of  arranging  his  engagements  to  fit  in 
with  Lilith's  own.  A  dinner  meant  the  chance  of 
Lilith  for  a  partner;  a  ball,  a  dance  or  two  with 
Lilith,  and  a  t£te-d,-tete  in  a  conservatory;  a  recep- 
tion, the  chance  of  edging  his  way  towards  a  little 
white  figure  and  keeping  beside  it  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening.  Amusement  lost  its  savour,  now  that 
Lilith  no  more  entered  into  the  scheme.  Life  was 
dull,  stale,  and  unprofitable.  The  days  dragged 
past  on  leaden  feet ;  he  fell  asleep  with  a  sigh,  and 
woke  to  a  pang  of  remembrance. 

For  a  whole  month  Francis  was  a  prey  to  grief, 
and  then,  as  he  himself  would  have  expressed  it, 


i68  What  a  Man  Wills 

he  "bucked  up."  There  came  an  historic  Satur- 
day evening,  when,  in  the  company  of  a  particularly 
fine  cigar  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  "it  was 
not  good  enough,"  and  that  he  could  not  "stick" 
it  any  more.  He  had  had  a  whole  month  of  being 
miserable,  and  it  was  the  dullest  time  he  had  ever 
known!  In  self-defence  he  must  pull  himself 
together  and  face  the  music. 

It  was  astonishing  how  many  saws  Francis 
quoted  over  that  cigar;  but  he  was  as  good  as  his 
vow,  and  from  that  hour  he  wasted  no  more  regrets 
on  Lilith  Wastneys.  So  serene  and  cheerful  be- 
came his  demeanour  that  his  one  confidante  con- 
gratulated him  on  having  set  a  pattern  to  suffering 
mankind. 

"I  have  heard  many  tragic  stories.  People 
always  do  confide  in  me,"  she  told  him;  "but 
never  have  I  met  a  man  who  has  borne  his  trouble 
as  you  have  borne  yours.  I  feel  a  better  woman 
from  the  experience.  It  has  been  a  triumph  of 
bravery  and  endurance!" 

"Think  so?"  said  Francis.  He  was  gratified  to 
know  that  he  had  made  such  a  good  impression, 
and  reminded  himself  insistently  that  lookers-on 
saw  most  of  the  game.  He  did  this  to  quieten  a 
tiresome  inner  voice  which  insisted  that  his  cheer- 
ful mien  was  the  result  of  cowardice  rather 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort    169 

than  of  bravery,  the  cowardice  which  refused  to 
endure ! 

"Still,  you  know,"  he  declared  lugubriously, 
"a  fellow  feels  lonely " 

The  confidante  sighed,  and  flicked  her  light 
eyelashes. 

"I  know  the  feeling, "  she  said. 

When  a  man  has  made  up  his  mind  that  it  is 
time  to  marry,  it  is  foolish  to  abandon  the  plan  be- 
cause one  woman  out  of  the  teeming  millions  in  the 
land  refuses  to  become  his  wife.  This,  at  least,  was 
Francis  Manning's  seasoned  decision,  and  it  was 
emphasized  by  the  announcement  of  Lilith  Wast- 
ney's  wedding,  which  appeared  in  the  newspapers 
exactly  three  months  after  her  refusal  of  himself. 
Whatever  sentimental  hankerings  he  might  have 
cherished  for  Lilith  the  maid,  it  was  clearly  out  of 
place  to  cast  another  thought  towards  the  wife  of 
Hereward  Lowther.  Francis  had  a  deep  respect 
for  the  conventions,  and  death  itself  could  not  have 
removed  his  former  love  to  a  more  impassable  dis- 
tance. He  heaved  a  sigh  to  her  memory,  and 
buried  it  underground. 

Within  a  week  from  that  day  he  was  engaged  to 
the  confidante.  It  seemed  the  obvious  thing  to  do, 
for  he  knew  her  more  intimately  than  any  other  girl 
of  his  acquaintance,  and  owed  her  a  debt  of  grati- 


170  What  a  Man  Wills 

tude  for  her  sympathy  in  his  former  affair.  She 
was  quite  a  nice  girl,  too ;  not  pretty,  but  amiable 
and  healthy,  with  a  small  income  of  her  own  which 
would  come  in  usefully  towards  running  the  house. 
He  wished  her  eyelashes  had  not  been  quite  so 
white;  but  one  could  not  have  everything.  She 
was  a  nice,  affectionate  girl. 

The  confidante  accepted  Francis  because  she  was 
tired  of  living  at  home  with  a  managing  mamma, 
and  wanted  to  start  life  on  her  own  account. 
She  liked  Francis,  was  proud  of  his  fine  appearance, 
knew  him  to  be  good-tempered  and  honourable, 
and  was  complacently  assured  that  they  would 
"get  on."  Far  better,  she  said,  to  begin  with  a 
sensible,  open-eyed  liking,  than  a  headlong  passion 
which  would  wear  itself  out  before  the  honeymoon 
was  over.  It  was,  in  short,  a  sensible  marriage 
between  eminently  sensible  contracting  parties. 
The  little  God  of  Love  had  no  part  in  the  cere- 
mony, but  it  is  only  fair  to  mention  that  nobody 
missed  him. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manning  went  to  Scotland  for 
their  honeymoon,  and  Francis  played  golf  every 
day,  what  time  his  wife  read  novels  in  the  veranda 
of  the  hotel.  She  sped  him  on  his  way  with  a  smile, 
and  welcomed  him  back  with  a  smile  to  match, 
and  if  the  young  girls  in  the  hotel  confided  in  each 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort    171 

other  that  they  would  break  their  hearts  if  their 
bridegrooms  neglected  them  in  such  a  fashion,  such 
a  thought  never  entered  her  head.  She  would 
have  been  bored  if  Francis  had  stayed  beside  her 
all  day  long.  What  on  earth  could  they  have 
found  to  say? 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manning 
returned  to  a  semi-detached  villa  in  a  southern  sub- 
urb, and  settled  down  to  a  comfortable  married  life. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Francis  Manning  spent  the  next 
ten  years  in  peace  and  comfort,  and  humdrum 
happiness.  They  had  good  health,  easy  means,  a 
large  number  of  acquaintances,  and  three  little 
daughters.  The  daughters  were  plain,  but  sturdy, 
and  gave  a  minimum  of  trouble  in  the  household. 
Francis,  indeed,  insisted  on  this  point.  Early  in 
the  lifetime  of  Maud,  the  eldest  daughter,  he  had 
become  aware  of  the  amazing  fact  that  nurses 
occasionally  wished  to  "go  out";  that,  in  addition, 
they  wished  to  go  out  on  the  Sabbath  day.  This 
seemed  to  him  unreasonable,  and  he  said  as  much 
to  his  wife. 

"But  why  in  the  name  of  all  that's  ridiculous, 
Sunday?  I'm  at  home  on  Sunday.  Sunday's 
the  day  when  we  need  nurse  most  of  all.  It's 
my  holiday." 


172  What  a  Man  Wills 

Mrs.  Manning  represented  that  Sunday  was 
also  a  holiday  for  nurse  and  her  friends,  and 
Francis  said,  very  well,  then,  they  must  have  two 
nurses.  If  necessary  they  must  have  three. 
The  one  thing  certain  was  that  he  could  not  be 
disturbed  on  his  day  of  rest,  so  a  capable  assist- 
ant was  engaged  forthwith,  and  comfort  was 
re-established. 

The  Mannings  took  no  part  in  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  neighbourhood.  There  were  several 
book  clubs,  lecture  courses,  and  the  like,  which 
they  were  urged  to  join,  but  without  success. 
Francis  declared  that  he  worked  all  day,  and  came 
home  to  rest,  and  his  wife  said,  thank  you,  no; 
she  had  no  wish  to  go  back  to  school  at  her  age. 
They  went  out  to  dinner  now  and  then,  and  made  a 
point  of  giving  two  or  three  dinners  themselves 
every  winter.  They  provided  lavishly  on  such 
occasions,  and  were  agreeably  conscious  that  their 
guests  were  impressed.  Both  husband  and  wife 
enjoyed  rich  foods,  and  saw  no  reason  for  denying 
themselves  the  gratification. 

As  far  as  religion  was  concerned,  the  Mannings 
made  a  point  of  going  to  church  with  the  children 
every  Sunday  morning  when  it  was  fine,  or  they 
were  not  late  for  breakfast,  or  Francis  did  not  feel 
inclined  for  a  walk.  Sometimes  he  went  off 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort    173 

golfing  for  the  day,  and  then  Mrs.  Manning  dressed 
Maud  in  her  best  clothes  and  they  went  to  church 
together.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  go  to 
church,  and  thought  the  habit  "nice."  Besides 
it  was  pleasant  to  see  friends  coming  out,  and 
walk  home  with  Mrs.  Lane,  her  favourite  neigh- 
bour. They  would  meet  on  the  path  outside  the 
graveyard,  and  turn  uphill  together,  and  Mrs. 
Lane  would  say:  "What  a  sermon!  My  dear, 
did  you  see  the  woman  in  the  pew  before  ours? 
She  came  in  late,  just  before  the  psalms.  She 

took  off  her  coat,  and,  my  dear,  her  blouse 

.  She  would  proceed  to  describe  the  blouse  in 
detail,  and  Mrs.  Manning  would  sigh  and  say: 
"It  is  nice  to  have  something  interesting  to  look 
at  in  the  next  pew!  We  have  those  awful  Miss 
Newtes." 

The  neighbours  on  both  sides  envied  the  Francis 
Mannings,  and  quoted  their  doings  with  admira- 
tion. In  the  matter  of  holidays,  for  instance,  how 
sane  and  sensible  were  their  arrangements!  The 
children  were  sent  with  their  nurses  to  the  sea, 
the  father  enjoyed  himself  on  Scottish  golf  links; 
the  mother  toured  abroad  with  a  woman  friend. 
Each  autumn  the  neighbours  agreed  to  profit  by 
the  example  of  the  Francis  Mannings,  and  to 
do  likewise  the  next  summer;  but  somehow  it 


174  What  a  Man  Wills 

never  came  off.  When  spring  came  round  the 
wife  would  conscientiously  remind  her  husband  of 
the  resolve,  and  urge  him  to  keep  it,  while  grace- 
fully withdrawing  herself.  "Margot  has  had 
several  of  those  bad  chest  colds,"  she  would  ex- 
plain. "  I  should  be  so  anxious  in  case  she  caught 
a  chill.  It  really  is  my  duty  to  go  with  the  children 
but  you,  dear,  you  could  quite  well " 

"Well!  I  don't  know,"  the  husband  would  re- 
ply. "What  would  become  of  you  in  the  evenings? 
And  I  promised  to  teach  Jack  to  swim.  I  think, 
on  the  whole,  we'd  better  stick  to  the  old  arrange- 
ment this  summer. " 

So  once  more  they  would  depart  en  famille  to 
the  seaside,  and  stay  in  lodgings,  and  be  happy 
in  the  old  domesticated  fashion.  But  also,  quite 
frequently,  bored! 

On  the  rare  occasions  when  he  gave  himself  over 
to  thought,  Francis  realized  that  there  was  only 
one  respect  in  which  life  had  disappointed  him, 
only  one  desire  which  had  been  withheld.  He 
wanted  a  son.  Each  time  that  a  child  had  been 
expected  he  had  built  his  hopes  upon  a  son;  each 
time  disappointment  had  been  more  acute.  He 
had  built  up  a  good  business  by  his  own  exertions ; 
he  wanted  a  son  of  his  own  name  to  carry  it  on. 
There  were  times,  moreover,  when  the  purely 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   175 

feminine  nature  of  his  household  fretted  his  nerves, 
and  he  thought,  with  longing,  of  a  man  child;  a 
little  chappie  in  trousers,  instead  of  the  eternal 
flounces;  a  knickerbockered  elf  sitting  in  his 
dressing-room  watching  him  shave;  a  tall  hob- 
bledehoy beginning  to  play  golf,  listening  with 
interest  to  accounts  of  his  father's  prowess.  Later 
on,  a  man,  a  partner,  a  prop  for  declining  years. 
Francis  pushed  the  thought  from  him,  but  it  re- 
curred. Deep  at  his  heart  lay  the  longing  for  a  son. 

And  the  son  came.  This  time  he  had  not  hoped ; 
he  had  told  himself  steadily  that  it  would  be  a 
girl.  Better  if  it  were  a  girl.  No  use  having  a  boy 
at  the  end  of  a  family  of  girls.  He  would  grow  up 
half  a  girl  himself,  and  be  a  disappointment.  He 
was  placidly  resigned  to  girl,  and  after  all,  behold, 
it  was  a  boy!  The  blood  raced  through  his  veins 
as  he  heard  the  good  news;  something  astonish- 
ingly like  tears  pricked  at  his  eyes. 

"Is  he — is  he  all  right?"  he  asked  breathlessly, 
and  the  doctor  laughed. 

"Go  upstairs  and  look  at  him,  my  dear  fellow! 
Fine  little  chap  as  you  could  wish  to  see." 

In  truth  he  was  a  healthy  nine-pounder  of  a  son, 
guaranteed  by  nurse,  and  mother  to  be  the  finest 
baby  ever  born,  and  seated  by  his  wife's  bedside, 
Francis  gave  vent  to  his  jubilation. 


176  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Now,"  he  said  triumphantly,  "I  have  every- 
thing I  want.  I  really  am  a  lucky  fellow.  Jolly 
little  beggar,  eh?  Seems  to  me — I  don't  know  if 
I'm  right — but  I  do  think  he  looks  different  from 
the  rest!" 

The  wife  smiled,  but  Francis  was  right;  every- 
body said  he  was  right.  The  longed-for  boy  was 
in  truth  an  extraordinarily  comely  infant,  and  each 
week  of  his  life  he  blossomed  into  fuller  charm. 
His  well-shaped  head  was  covered  with  golden  curls 
and  when  he  lay  asleep  (and  he  obligingly  slept 
most  of  his  time)  it  was  a  pleasure  to  observe  the 
delicate  promise  of  his  features.  He  had  obviously 
elected  to  resemble  his  handsome  father,  and  the 
father  was  complacently  grateful  for  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Manning  observed  with  amazement  that 
Francis  nursed  this  baby,  positively  nursed  him  in 
his  arms,  and  was  quite  disappointed  when,  on 
returning  from  the  city,  he  failed  to  find  him 
awake. 

"Are  his  eyes  changing  colour  yet?"  he 
would  ask.  "  I  want  them  to  be  blue.  Blue  eyes 
would  look  so  well  with  his  yellow  hair. "  But  the 
baby's  eyes  remained  a  dull,  clouded  grey.  "Not 
blue  yet!"  Francis  would  repeat.  "How  long 
is  it  before  they  begin  to  change?  Fine  big  eyes, 
aren't  they?  I  want  to  make  the  little  beggar  look 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   177 

at  me,  but  he  won't.  Why  does  he  stare  at  the 
ceiling?" 

"It's  the  electric  light,"  said  his  wife;  but  the 
next  morning,  when  the  lights  were  turned  off, 
the  baby  still  stared  blankly  upward. 

"Why  the  dickens  does  he  stare  at  the  ceiling?" 
Francis  asked  again. 

Gradually,  imperceptibly,  a  growing  anxiety 
began  to  mingle  with  his  joy,  and  the  anxiety  was 
connected  with  those  staring  eyes.  He  would 
not  put  his  thoughts  into  words;  but  he  watched 
his  wife's  face,  and  saw  in  it  no  reflection  of  his 
own  fears.  Then  for  a  time  he  would  banish  the 
dread ;  and  anon  it  would  recur. 

Were  the  boy's  eyes  all  right?  Was  it  really 
natural  that  he  should  be  always  staring  up? 
Ridiculous  nonsense!  Of  course  it  was  all  right. 
Things  had  come  to  a  pretty  pass  when  he  took  to 
worrying  himself,  while  his  wife,  who  knew  a 
thousand  times  more  about  babies,  remained  un- 
troubled and  serene.  Bother  the  child's  eyes!  .  .  . 
He  would  think  about  them  no  more. 

All  his  life  Francis  had  been  a  sworn  opponent 
of  worry.  When  anything  disagreeable  threatened, 
his  mode  of  procedure  was  to  shrug  his  shoulders, 
and  immediately  divert  his  thoughts.  "  Leave  the 
thing  alone ;  don't  bother  about  it ;  it  will  probably 


1 78  What  a  Man  Wills 

come  all  right  in  the  end!"  Such  was  his  theory, 
and  experience  had  proved  that  as  often  as  not 
it  was  correct.  He  endeavoured  to  cultivate  the 
same  attitude  towards  his  boy,  but  in  vain.  The 
anxiety  recurred. 

He  told  himself  that  he  would  have  the  eyes 
tested,  and  satisfy  himself  once  for  all;  but  once 
and  again  his  courage  failed,  and  the  days  passed 
on,  and  nothing  was  done.  Then  there  came  an 
evening  when  suddenly  fear  engulfed  him,  and 
made  anything  seem  easier  than  a  continuation 
of  suspense. 

He  was  holding  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  he 
rose  and  carried  it  across  the  room,  to  where  a 
powerful  light  hung  from  the  wall.  He  pushed 
aside  the  shade,  and  held  the  tiny  face  closely 
approaching  the  glass.  The  eyes  stared  on,  un- 
blinking and  still.  A  great  cry  burst  from  Francis' 
throat: 

"My  God!"  he  cried.     "The  boy  is  blind!" 

The  boy  was  blind,  and  there  was  no  hope  that 
he  would  ever  possess  his  sight.  Mrs.  Manning 
wept  herself  ill,  but  even  in  the  depths  of  her  dis- 
tress she  realized  that  her  husband's  sufferings 
were  keener  than  her  own.  It  gave  an  added  touch 
of  misery  to  those  black  days,  to  feel  a  strange  new 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   179 

distance  between  her  husband  and  herself.  She 
could  not  comfort  him;  she  could  not  understand 
him ;  after  ten  years  of  married  life  it  appeared  as 
if  the  man  she  had  known  had  disappeared,  and  a 
stranger  had  taken  his  place.  Yet  there  was  no- 
thing unmanly  in  his  grief;  he  was  quiet  and  self- 
restrained  as  she  had  never  seen  him  before, 
gentler,  and  more  considerate  of  others. 

The  poor  woman  noticed  the  change  with  awe, 
and  wondered  if  Francis  were  going  to  die. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  feel  anything  as  you  are 
feeling  this,"  she  said  to  him  one  night.  They  were 
sitting  by  the  dying  fire,  and  Francis  raised  his 
head  and  stared  at  her  with  sombre  eyes. 

"But  I  have  felt  nothing,"  he  said  flatly.  "I 
am  finding  that  out.  I  did  not  know  what  it 
meant  to  feel!  ... 

From  the  moment  of  his  discovery  of  the 
blindness  of  his  son,  Francis  Manning  became  a 
man  possessed  of  but  one  aim — to  lighten  and 
alleviate,  so  far  as  was  humanly  possible,  the  child's 
sad  lot.  He  taught  himself  Braille,  so  that  in  time 
to  come  he  might  teach  it  to  the  boy,  and  be  able 
to  translate  for  his  benefit  appropriate  pieces  of 
literature.  He  visited  every  famous  institute  for 
the  blind  at  home  and  abroad  t  and  made  an  ex- 


180  What  a  Man  Wills 

haustive  study  of  their  systems.  He  searched  for  a 
girl  of  intelligence  and  charm,  and  sent  her  to  be 
trained  in  readiness  to  undertake  the  boy's  educa- 
tion; he  schooled  himself  to  be  a  playmate  and 
companion;  he  denied  himself  every  luxury,  so 
that  the  boy's  future  might  be  assured.  As 
Francis  the  man,  he  ceased  to  exist;  he  lived  on 
only  as  Francis  the  father. 

During  the  first  three  years  of  his  life  the  young 
Francis  remained  blissfully  unconscious  of  his 
infirmity.  A  strong,  healthy  child  surrounded  by 
the  tenderest  of  care,  the  sun  of  his  happiness  never 
set.  His  little  feet  raced  up  and  down;  his  sweet, 
shrill  voice  chanted  merry  strains;  his  small,  strong 
hands  seemed  gifted  with  sight  as  well  as  touch,  so 
surely  did  they  guide  him  to  and  fro.  Nature, 
having  withheld  the  greatest  gift,  had  remorsefully 
essayed  compensation  in  the  shape  of  a  finer 
touch,  a  finer  hearing.  The  blind  child  was  the 
sunshine  of  the  home;  but  the  father  knew  that 
the  hour  must  dawn  when  that  sunshine  would  be 
clouded.  He  held  himself  in  readiness  for  that 
hour,  training  himself  as  an  athlete  trains  for  a 
race. 

He  would  need  courage:  therefore  it  behoved 
him  to  be  brave  now,  to  harden  himself  against  the 
ills  of  life,  and  cultivate  a  resolute  composure.  All 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   181 

the  influences  which  had  tended  to  keep  him  soft 
must  be  thrown  aside  as  weights  which  would 
hinder  the  race.  He  must  be  wise,  therefore  it 
behoved  him  to  think,  and  to  train  his  mind.  A 
light  reason,  a  light  excuse,  would  no  longer  be 
sufficient;  he  must  learn  to  judge  and  to  reflect. 
He  must  be  tender;  and  to  be  tender  it  was  neces- 
sary to  bury  self,  and  to  put  other  interests  before 
his  own.  More  weights  had  to  be  thrown  aside. 
And  he  must  be  patient!  Hitherto  he  had  con- 
sidered patience  a  feeble,  almost  unmanly,  virtue; 
but  he  perceived  that  it  would  be  needed,  and  must 
be  cultivated  with  the  rest. 

Mrs.  Manning  confided  in  her  neighbours  that 
Francis  had  never  been  the  same  since  the  dis- 
covery of  Baby's  blindness.  He  never  complained, 
she  said.  Oh,  no;  and  he  was  most  kind — gave 
no  trouble  in  the  house,  b ut —  Then  she  sighed, 
and  the  neighbours  sympathized,  and  prophesied 
that  he  would  "come  round. "  In  truth  the  good, 
commonplace  woman  was  ill  at  ease  in  the  rarefied 
atmosphere  of  the  home,  and  sincerely  regretted 
the  comfortable,  easy-going  husband  of  yore. 

For  three  whole  years  Frank  lived  untroubled, 
and  then  the  questions  began  to  come. 

"Am  I  blind,  father?  Why  am  I  blind?  Is 
it  naughty  to  be  blind?" 


1 82  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  baby  child  was  easily  appeased.  Later  on 
the  questions  would  become  more  insistent.  Fran- 
cis prepared  himself  for  that  hour.  At  four  years 
fleeting  shadows  began  to  pass  over  the  boy's 
radiance.  Alone  with  his  father,  his  face  would 
pucker  in  thought. 

"Shall  I  always  be  blind,  father?  I  don't  like 
to  be  blind.  Was  you  blind  when  you  was  a  little 
boy?" 

The  knife  turned  in  the  father's  heart  at  the 
sound  of  the  innocent  words ;  but  always  the  cloud 
loomed  darker  ahead.  He  trained  himself  more 
zealously,  in  preparation  for  the  hour  when  the 
boy  would  rebel! 

But  there  were  happy  hours  between,  hours 
when  the  natural  joy  of  childhood  filled  the  house 
with  laughter,  and  father  and  son  were  supremely 
happy  in  each  other's  society.  No  companion  of 
his  own  age  was  half  as  dear  to  the  boy ;  no  living 
creature  stood  for  so  much  in  the  father's  heart. 
They  read  and  studied  together;  they  held  long, 
intimate  conversation.  They  played  games  from 
which  blind  people  are  usually  debarred.  Stand- 
ing behind  a  hoop  on  the  croquet  lawn  the  father 
would  cry  in  a  brisk,  staccato  voice,  "Frank!" 
and  on  the  instant  the  boy's  mallet  would  hit  the 
ball,  and  send  it  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Comfort   183 

proud  and  glad  was  Frankie  to  know  that  his  aim 
was  surer  than  that  of  his  sighted  sisters.  And 
every  hour  of  contentment,  every  added  interest 
and  occupation  bestowed  upon  the  boy,  was  as  a 
salve  to  the  sore  father  heart.  But  at  six  years  the 
inevitable  rebellion  began. 

"Is  he  blind?"  the  boy  would  ask  of  a  new 
acquaintance.  "Can  he  see,  too?  Everyone  can 
see  but  me!  .  .  .  I  want  to  run  about  like  the 
other  fellows,  and  play  cricket,  and  have  some  fun. 
It's  dull  all  alone  in  the  dark.  Can't  you  have  me 
made  better,  father?" 

At  times  he  would  cry;  piteous,  pitiful  tears, 
but  the  sensitive  ear  was  quick  to  catch  the  distress 
in  his  father's  voice,  and  he  would  offer  consola- 
tion in  the  midst  of  his  grief.  "Don't  be  sorry, 
father.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  sorry.  It  doesn't 
matter;  really  it  doesn't.  I  have  a  ripping  time!" 

Never  for  a  moment  did  the  boy  hold  his  parents 
responsible  for  his  infirmity;  but  there  came  a 
day  when  he  blamed  his  God. 

"If  God  can  do  everything  He  likes,  He  could 
have  made  me  quite  right,  and  well.  Why  didn't 
He,  father?" 

"I  don't  know,  my  son. " 

"  You  would  make  me  better  if  you  could !  You 
said  yourself  you'd  pay  the  doctor  all  your  money. 


1 84  What  a  Man  Wills 

You  are  kinder  than  Him.  I  don't  think  God  is 
kind  to  me,  father.  It  would  have  been  so  easy 
for  Him " 

The  wisdom  for  which  Francis  had  prayed  and 
struggled  seemed  a  poor  thing  at  that  moment. 
He  was  dumb,  and  yet  he  dared  not  be  dumb. 

"Frankie, "  he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  a  secret — a 
secret  between  you  and  me.  .  .  God  sent  me 
a  great  many  blessings  when  I  was  young,  and  they 
did  me  no  good.  I  was  selfish,  and  careless,  and 
blind,  too,  Frankie,  though  my  eyes  could  see,  and 
then  after  He  had  tried  me  with  happiness  and  it 
had  failed,  He  sent  me  " — the  man's  voice  trembled 
ominously — "a  great  grief!  .  .  .  Frankie,  old 
man,  when  I  come  to  die,  I  believe  I  am  going  to 
thank  God  for  that  grief,  more  than  for  all  the 
blessings  which  went  before." 

The  child  sat  silent,  struggling  for  comprehen- 
sion. 

"What  did  the  great  grief  do  to  you,  father?" 

Francis  paused  for  a  moment,  struggling  for 
composure.  Then  he  spoke : 

"//  stabbed  my  dead  heart  wide  awake!" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  child's  blind  eyes. 


VII 

THE    GIRL    WHO    ASKED    FOR    HAPPINESS 

FATE  is  a  sorry  trickster,  and  a  study  of  life  leads 
one  to  the  conclusion  that  the  less  that  is  asked  of 
her  the  less  does  she  bestow. 

Meriel,  on  her  part,  had  made  few  demands — 
riches  and  power  had  for  her  no  allure;  her  highest 
ambition  was  to  attain  that  quiet  domestic  hap- 
piness enjoyed  by  thousands  of  her  sister  women. 
She  wanted  to  be  loved  and  to  love  in  return;  to 
transform  some  trivial  villa  into  a  home,  and  reign 
therein  over  her  little  kingdom ;  and  on  her  twenty- 
eighth  birthday  fate  had  so  wrought  the  tangled 
skein  that  she  found  herself  in  the  position  of 
unpaid  attendant  to  an  old  school  friend,  while  her 
heart  was  racked  by  a  hopeless  passion  for  the  same 
friend's  husband. 

The  way  of  it  was  this.  Meriel  and  Flora  had 
been  school  friends,  between  whom  existed  the 
affection  which  often  develops  between  a  strong 
and  a  weak  character  when  they  are  thrown  into 

185 


1 86  What  a  Man  Wills 

intimate  companionship.  Flora  was  pretty  and 
gay,  qualities  which  in  a  young  girl  blind  the  eyes 
of  beholders  to  many  drawbacks.  Meriel  was 
quite  resigned  to  be  blinded  herself,  but  some  two 
or  three  years  after  the  two  girls  had  left  school  she 
heard  with  amazement  that  Flora  was  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Geoffrey  Sterne,  one  of  the  most 
prominent  litterateurs  of  the  day. 

Geoffrey  Sterne  and — Flora!  How  was  it  that 
the  cleverest  of  men  so  often  chose  weak,  clinging 
women  as  companions  for  life?  It  seemed  to 
Meriel  inconceivable  that  this  giant  among  men 
should  have  given  his  love  to  an  animated  doll; 
but  Flora  wrote  gushing  accounts  of  her  fiance's 
devotion,  and  declared  that  she  was  as  happy  as 
the  day  was  long.  It  seemed  to  Meriel  that  she 
must  indeed  be  the  happiest  of  women! 

Circumstances  prevented  Meriel's  presence  at 
the  wedding,  and  for  the  next  five  years  she  did  not 
see  her  friend.  A  child  was  born  and  died ;  rumour 
reported  that  Sterne  was  working  incessantly  at  a 
work  which  was  to  be  the  magnum  opus  of  his  life ; 
it  was  said  also  that  his  wife  was  in  delicate  health, 
and  had  abandoned  the  dissipations  of  town. 
Then  at  the  end  of  the  five  years  came  an  invitation 
in  Flora's  handwriting.  Meriel  was  not  to  be 
vexed  with  her  for  being  silent  for  so  long;  she 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    187 

had  always  intended  to  write,  simply  dreadful  how 
many  things  were  left  undone !  Really  and  truly, 
she  had  never  forgotten  the  dear  old  days.  Would 
Meriel  come  down  and  pay  her  a  nice  long  visit? 
Geoffrey  liked  to  have  friends  staying  in  the  house ; 
he  thought  Flora  was  too  much  alone;  but  some 
visitors  were  such  a  nuisance — always  poking 
about.  Meriel  was  not  like  that — she  was  always 
a  dear  old  thing.  Would  Thursday  suit?  The 
3.13.  The  car  should  be  waiting  at  the  station. 
Flora  sent  heaps  of  love .... 

Meriel  accepted  the  invitation  without  hesita- 
tion; she  was  without  near  relations,  living  on 
narrow  means,  and  her  life  was  so  bare  that  she 
was  thankful  of  the  mere  change  of  scene.  She  liked 
the  sound  of  "the  car";  most  of  all  she  longed 
to  meet  Geoffrey  Steme,  and  see  him  in  the  inti- 
macy of  his  home. 

Flora  was  waiting  at  the  station  when  her  friend 
arrived ;  and  at  the  sight  of  her  face  came  Meriel's 
first  disillusionment.  This  was  not  the  companion 
of  old;  this  was  a  strange  woman  with  whom  she 
had  no  acquaintance.  The  once  delicate  face  had 
lost  its  contour,  the  features  were  blurred  and 
coarsened:  out  of  the  blue  eyes  peered  a  furtive 
soul.  Meriel  felt  a  presage  of  trouble  at  the  sight 
of  that  ravaged  face. 


1 88  What  a  Man  Wills 

A  week's  stay  at  the  house  revealed  two  eloquent 
facts.  Flora  was  afraid  of  her  husband,  but  she 
loved  him  still,  and  craved  for  his  approval.  Out 
of  his  presence  she  was  nervous,  and  irritable,  pos- 
sessed by  a  demon  of  restlessness  which  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  attend  to  the  same  thing  for 
two  minutes  together;  but  let  Sterne  enter  the 
room,  and  all  the  poor  forces  of  her  nature  were 
rallied  to  appear  calm  and  at  ease. 

Meriel  saw  through  these  efforts  with  a  woman's 
intuition;  later  on  with  a  woman's  sympathy,  for 
she  knew  that  Geoffrey  Sterne  no  longer  loved  his 
wife.  He  was  kindly,  chivalrous,  attentive;  with 
the  utmost  of  his  powers  he  fulfilled  his  duty,  but 
there  was  no  spark  of  that  divine  flame  which 
would  have  turned  duty  into  joy.  To  have  gained 
the  love  of  such  a  man,  and  then — to  have  lost  it ! 
Meriel  found  herself  reversing  her  former  decision. 
She  had  believed  Flora  Sterne  to  be  the  happiest 
of  women.  She  now  knew  her  to  be  the  most 
unfortunate. 

There  was  trouble  in  the  air — a  trouble  nebulous 
and  vague,  yet  real  enough  to  chill  the  blood.  The 
cloud  of  coming  disaster  settled  down  more  and 
more  heavily  over  the  household.  There  came  a 
night  when  the  storm  broke. 

Sterne  had  been  away  all  day,  and  in  his  absence 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    189 

his  wife's  restlessness  took  an  acute  turn.  She 
wandered  about  the  house  rejecting  irritably  all 
offers  of  help,  and  finally  shut  herself  up  in  her  own 
rooms,  leaving  Meriel  a  prey  to  anxiety.  What 
was  the  reason  of  Flora's  strange  behaviour?  Was 
it  a  pure  matter  of  nerves,  or  was  there  in  truth 
some  hidden  sorrow  preying  upon  her  mind,  and 
driving  her  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  oblivion? 
What  sorrow  could  Flora  have?  Grief  over  the 
death  of  her  child  had  long  since  faded  into  a 
placid  conclusion  that  all  was  for  the  best.  It 
had  been  a  dear  little  thing,  but  children  were  a 
tie.  .  .  .  She  was  glad  there  had  been  no 
other.  .  .  .  For  the  rest,  life  had  brought 
her  the  most  luxurious  of  homes,  the  most  at- 
tentive of  husbands,  and  if  that  attention  was  not 
induced  by  the  highest  motive,  Meriel  doubted  if 
the  dulled  mind  grasped  the  lack.  What  sorrow, 
then,  could  Flora  have? 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  away,  until  the 
hour  approached  when  Sterne  would  return,  when 
a  feeling  of  responsibility  drove  Meriel  to  follow 
Flora  to  her  boudoir.  She  did  not  wish  Geof- 
frey to  return  to  find  his  wife  suffering  and 
alone. 

The  room  was  darkened,  so  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  see  distinctly,  but  the  sound  of  a  low  moan 


What  a  Man  Wills 


reached  her  ears,  and  prone  on  the  sofa  lay  Flora, 
her  face  sunk  deep  in  the  piled-up  cushions. 

Meriel  spoke,  but  there  was  no  reply  ;  she  knelt 
down  and  pressed  the  cushion  from  the  hidden  face, 
but  the  eyes  remained  closed,  the  jaw  fixed  and 
fallen.  Poor  Flora  !  Her  sufferings  had  been  real 
enough,  since  in  the  end  they  had  culminated  in 
this  heavy  swoon.  Meriel  threw  open  windows, 
found  water  and  smelling  salts,  and  unloosed  the 
clothing  round  the  neck.  In  the  midst  of  her 
efforts  Sterne  entered,  and  with  quick  glance  took 
in  the  situation.  He  brought  a  flask  of  brandy 
from  his  room,  and  from  time  to  time  inserted  a 
few  drops  within  the  parted  lips.  But  Flora 
did  not  revive.  She  moaned  and  stirred,  but  her 
eyes  remained  closed.  She  showed  no  conscious- 
ness of  their  presence.  In  hot  haste  a  doctor  was 
summoned;  he  came,  and  stood  gazing  grimly 
down  at  the  still  figure. 

"We  did  everything  we  could  think  of  before 
sending  for  you,  "  Sterne  explained.  "Fanned  her, 
sponged  her  head,  gave  her  brandy  -  " 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  —  a  terrible  look. 

"Brandy!"  he  repeated  deeply.  "Man,  have 
you  no  eyes?  What  have  you  been  about  to  allow 
her  to  come  to  this  pass?  She  is  not  faint.  She  is 
drunk!" 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    191 

Flora's  remorse  was  a  pitiful  thing.  For  years 
she  had  been  playing  with  fire,  but  the  knowledge 
of  the  depths  to  which  she  had  fallen  filled  her  with 
shame  and  fear.  For  days  together  she  refused  to 
see  her  husband,  but  from  the  first  moment  of 
consciousness  she  clung  with  a  childish  desperation 
to  the  friend  of  her  youth. 

"Don't  leave  me!  Don't  go  away!  I  can't 
face  it  alone.  Oh,  Meriel,  stay  and  help  me  to 
bear  it.  I'm  afraid  to  be  left  alone  with  Geoffrey. 
He  will  say  nothing — he'll  go  on  being  kind,  but  it 
will  be  in  his  mind ....  I  shall  see  it  in  his 
eyes.  .  .  .  I've  disgraced  him,  and  I'm  afraid — 
I'm  afraid  of  the  future!  ...  Oh,  Meriel, 
stay  and  help  me!" 

That  night,  walking  in  the  darkening  garden, 
Meriel  told  Sterne  of  his  wife's  desire,  and  added 
a  few  simple  words. 

"If  you  wish  it,  too,  I  will  stay,"  she  said.  "I 
have  no  home  ties,  and  can  extend  my  visit  as 
long  as  it  suits  you.  But  I  must  have  your 
approval.  If  you  would  prefer  a  regular 
attendant " 

His  face  twitched  with  emotion. 

"I  should— abhor  it!"  he  said  tensely.  "If 
you  could  stay,  it  would  be  a  godsend,  but  it 
seems  too  great  a  sacrifice.  .  .  .  We  have  no 


192  What  a  Man  Wills 

right  to  ask  it.  Why  should  you  give  up  so 
much?" 

"I  have  so  little  to  give  up,"  Meriel  said.  She 
looked  into  Sterne's  face  with  a  pathetic  attempt  at 
a  smile.  "I  am  a  superfluous  woman.  Nobody 
needs  me,  and  all  my  life  I  have  longed  to  be 
needed.  If  I  can  be  of  use  here,  I'd  rather  stay 
than  go  anywhere  on  earth. " 

"God  bless  you!"  he  said,  and  gripped  her  hand. 

That  was  the  signing  of  the  agreement  which 
resulted  in  four  years  of  ceaseless  service.  At  the 
beginning  Meriel  had  contemplated  a  stay  of  a 
few  months;  but  with  every  week  that  passed  she 
seemed  more  firmly  riveted  in  her  post.  After  each 
breakdown,  Flora's  dread  of  being  alone  with  her 
husband  increased  in  violence,  while  he  shrank 
more  sensitively  from  the  services  of  a  hireling. 
They  needed  her,  and  she  stayed  on  and  on,  at 
first  provisionally ;  later,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

From  the  beginning  Sterne  had  little  hope  of  his 
wife's  reformation,  for  he  realized  that  her  weakness 
was  of  several  years'  growth,  and  that  the  inherent 
instability  of  her  character  unfitted  her  for  the 
prolonged  struggle  which  lay  ahead.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  after  the  first  passion  of  remorse  had  worn 
itself  out,  the  whole  of  Flora's  energies  were  ex- 
pended in  the  attempt  to  deceive  her  companions, 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    193 

and  to  discover  secret  methods  of  indulging  her 
craving.  The  history  of  those  four  years  was  one 
of  recurrent  disappointment.  The  last  remnant 
of  beauty  died  out  of  Flora's  face;  Sterne's  dark 
hair  was  streaked  with  grey,  Meriel's  features 
were  fined  to  a  delicate  sharpness ;  her  eyes  had  the 
pathetic  wistfulness  of  a  dumb  animal.  From  the 
first  moment  of  meeting  her  heart  had  gone  out  to 
Geoffrey  Sterne ;  before  she  had  been  three  months 
under  his  roof  she  loved  him  with  an  absorbing 
passion,  and  for  four  long  years  she  had  stood  by, 
watching  his  torture,  holding  her  love  in  check. 
Surely  no  man  and  woman  were  ever  thrown  to- 
gether in  more  intimate  relationship.  Night  after 
night  they  wrestled  together  against  the  demon 
which  destroyed  their  peace;  week  after  week, 
month  after  month,  they  planned  and  consulted, 
toiled  and  failed,  hoped  and  sorrowed, — together, 
always  together;  virtually  alone,  yet  always  with 
that  pitiful  presence  holding  them  apart. 

Sterne  was  as  chivalrous  to  his  friend  as  to  his 
wife.  Never  by  look  or  deed  did  he  pass  the  bor- 
ders of  friendship.  With  one  part  of  her  nature 
Meriel  was  thankful  for  the  fact.  It  would  have 
marred  her  admiration  of  the  man's  character  if 
he  had  made  love  to  the  woman  who  was  minister- 
ing to  his  wife.  With  another  part  of  her  nature 
13 


194  What  a  Man  Wills 

she  longed  fiercely,  hungrily,  to  feel  the  touch  of 
his  lips,  the  grasp  of  his  arms.  There  were  times 
when  she  was  shaken  with  envy  of  the  poor  crea- 
ture who  still  claimed  his  tenderness  and  his  care, 
but  she  never  deluded  herself  that  Sterne  returned 
her  love.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  own  near 
association  with  the  tragedy  of  his  life  must  in  it- 
self prevent  such  a  possibility.  In  years  to  come, 
when  poor  Flora  had  found  her  rest,  Sterne  might 
meet  some  sweet  woman  who  lived  in  the  sunshine, 
and  find  happiness  with  her.  "He  will  forget, 
and  be  comforted.  He  will  love  her  the  more  for 
all  he  has  suffered. "  Meriel  felt  an  anguish  of  envy 
for  that  other  woman  who  would  enjoy  the  happi- 
ness denied  to  herself,  a  bitter  rebellion  against  her 
own  fate. 

"  I  have  given  my  youth,  my  strength,  my  soul — 
and  what  have  I  gained  in  return?  Emptiness  and 
suffering!"  she  cried  fiercely.  Then  added,  with  a 
sombre  triumph,  "But  she  can  never  help  him  as 
I  have  helped!  He  can  never  need  her  as  he  has 
needed  me!" 

The  end  of  the  four  years  found  the  three  em- 
barked for  India  to  try  the  effect  of  "suggestion" 
under  a  famous  professor  of  the  East.  It  was  a 
forlorn  chance,  as  it  was  doubtful  if  Flora  retained 
enough  brain  power  to  respond  to  the  treatment; 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    195 

but  something  was  hoped  from  the  change  of  scene 
and  the  healthful  effects  of  the  voyage. 

Meriel  welcomed  the  change  with  relief.  Flora's 
increasing  disability  had  of  late  thrown  her  hus- 
band and  friend  into  what  was  practically  a 
prolonged  t£te-d,-tete,  and  the  strain  of  constant 
self-repression  had  grown  beyond  endurance.  In 
the  turmoil  of  travelling  such  close  intimacy  would 
be  impossible,  and  her  own  tired  nerves  would  be 
refreshed. 

For  the  first  fortnight  all  went  well.  The  Bay 
was  smooth,  the  Mediterranean  blue  and  smiling; 
even  Flora  herself  was  roused  to  a  feeble  admira- 
tion. She  was  so  quiet  and  amenable  that  Meriel 
was  able  to  leave  her  for  hours  together  in  the 
charge  of  her  maid,  while  she  herself  lay  on  a  deck 
chair,  luxuriating  in  the  peace  and  beauty  of  the 
scene.  Sometimes  Sterne  would  sit  by  her  side, 
and  they  would  talk  together, — brief,  disconnected 
fragments  of  talk,  interrupted  by  intervals  of 
silence.  They  spoke  of  happier  days;  of  their 
youth,  their  dreams  and  ambitions,  the  glowing 
optimism  of  early  hopes. 

Sterne  had  started  his  career  with  the  finest  am- 
bition which  a  writer  can  know:  a  passing  popular- 
ity would  not  satisfy  him,  money  was  regarded 
merely  as  a  means  to  live;  his  aim  was  to  write 


196  What  a  Man  Wills 

words  which  should  endure  after  he  himself  was 
laid  to  rest,  and  to  that  aim  he  had  held  fast,  de- 
spite all  the  trials  and  discouragements  of  his  life. 
To  him,  as  to  every  writer,  came  the  realization 
that  his  power  to  help  and  uplift  was  measured  by 
his  own  suffering.  His  readers  were  enriched  by 
his  poverty.  There  were  times  when  the  know- 
ledge soothed,  times  again  when  the  natural  man 
rose  in  revolt,  and  demanded  bread  for  his  own  soul. 

"You  tell  me  that  I  have  succeeded,"  he  said 
bitterly  to  Meriel;  "but  I  have  never  tasted  the 
savour  of  success.  I  have  no  child  to  inherit  my 
name,  and  my  wife  does  not  care — even  in  the 
early  days  she  cared  nothing  for  my  work.  Never 
in  her  life  has  she  read  an  article  of  mine  from 
beginning  to  end.  When  I  told  her  of  a  fresh  com- 
mission she  asked  always — 'How  much  will  it  be?' 
After  the  first  year  I  never  mentioned  my  work. 
The  poorest  clerk  hurrying  home  to  tell  his  wife  of 
a  ten-pound  rise,  feeling  sure  of  her  sympathy  and 
understanding,  is  richer  than  I.  He  has  his 
reward!" 

Meriel  found  courage  to  ask  a  question  which 
had  long  hovered  on  her  lips. 

"You  were  so  very  different.  At  school  Flora 
never  pretended  to  be  intellectual.  Why  did  you 
ever " 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    197 

"Marry  her?"  his  face  softened,  he  drew  a  re- 
trospective sigh.  ' '  I  loved  her,  Meriel !  That  was 
the  reason.  She  was  young,  and  sweet,  and  trust- 
ful, and  when  a  pretty  girl  steals  into  a  man's  heart 
he  does  not  stop  to  inquire  into  her  brain  powers. 
I  have  reproached  myself  because  the  glamour 
so  soon  faded,  but  I  am  thankful  to  remember 
that  it  was  an  honest  marriage ;  I  loved  her  truly, 
and  she  loved  me.  My  poor  Flora!  I  believe 
she  does  still.  It's  very  pitiful. " 

Meriel  turned  her  head  so  that  he  should  not 
see  her  face.  The  tenderness  of  his  tone  was  pain- 
ful to  her,  the  thought  of  those  early  days  of  mar- 
ried love  tortured  her  heart.  The  world  seemed 
to  her  a  cruel  place,  where  men  and  women  were 
tried  beyond  their  strength. 

"At  least  you  have  had  something!"  she  told 
him  wistfully.  ' '  Your  golden  time  passed  quickly, 
but  you  had  the  experience.  You  are  a  man,  and 
to  men  work  comes  first.  You  can  lose  yourself 
in  it,  forget  your  disappointments,  and  escape  to 
a  new  world.  And  you  have  made  a  great  reputa- 
tion. Men  praise  you,  admire  you,  are  helped  by 
you.  Doesn't  that  help?" 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  vaguely.     "I  wonder!" 

They  sat  in  silence  gazing  at  the  waste  of  waters 
sparkling  in  the  noonday  sun.  When  after  some 


198  What  a  Man  Wills 

moments  he  spoke  again,  it  was  apparently  to 
introduce  a  new  topic. 

"What  do  you  feel  about  colour,  Meriel?  Does 
it  speak  to  you?  Look  at  those  great  waves  to- 
day !  .  .  .  The  blue  of  them,  the  deepest,  truest 
blue  that  it  is  possible  to  conceive,  and  the  shafts 
of  ^green,  cutting  across  the  blue,  and  the  purple 
shadows,  and  above  all,  the  foamy  torrent  of  white! 
Things  that  one  has  done  oneself  are  so  poor,  so 
unsatisfying;  but  the  big  things  last.  The  sea 
comforts  me,  Meriel;  the  bigness  of  it,  the  beauty 
of  it.  Why  should  we  fret,  and  be  troubled? 
It  will  pass !  Everything  passes.  We  have  only 
to  be  faithful;  to  stick  to  our  posts,  and  look 
ahead!" 

But  Meriel  was  a  woman,  with  a  woman's 
heart  that  refused  to  find  comfort  in  philosophy. 
She  looked  at  the  changeful  sea,  but  the  very 
beauty  of  it  brought  a  heavier  weight,  for  she 
was  one  of  the  tender  souls  who  are  dependent 
on  companionship  for  her  joys.  If  Sterne  had 
loved  her,  and  had  been  free  to  love,  she  would 
have  entered  into  his  joy  in  Nature  with  ready 
understanding,  but  she  was  suffering  from  an  intol- 
erable loneliness  of  spirit,  to  which  the  glory  of 
the  scene  around  added  the  last  touch  of  bitterness. 

"It  doesn't  comfort  me,"  she  said.     "I  need 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness    199 

something  nearer;  more  personal;  something  of 
my  own.  You  have  suffered,  but  you  have  also 
enjoyed.  It  is  easier  to  be  resigned  when  you  have 
possessed,  even  if  the  possessions  have  had  to  go. 
If  you  haven't  had  all  that  you  asked  of  life,  at 
least  you  have  had  a  great  deal.  Some  of  us  have 
nothing!" 

He  looked  at  her  as  she  gazed  wistfully  into 
space,  a  woman  aged  before  her  time,  with  a  sweet 
sad  face,  worn  with  the  burden  of  his  own  sorrows. 

"What  did  you  ask?"  he  inquired  softly. 

"I  asked  for  Happiness,"  Meriel  said,  and 
turned  her  eyes  on  him  with  a  pitiful  smile. 

There  was  a  long  silence  before  he  answered, 
but  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  tremulous  with 
feeling. 

"Ah,  Meriel!"  he  cried;  "and  we  have  gwen 
you  Duty!  .  .  .  It's  a  cold  thing  to  fill  a 
woman's  heart.  .  .  .  I've  reproached  myself 
a  thousand  times.  ...  I  should  not  have 
allowed  you  to  sacrifice  yourself.  ...  It 
must  not  go  on!" 

A  spasm  of  fear  ran  through  her  veins. 

"It's  the  nearest  approach  to  happiness  I've 
ever  known." 

"Nevertheless,"  he  said  firmly,  "it  shall  not  go 
on.  We  have  no  right  to  murder  your  joy.  Help 


200  What  a  Man  Wills 

me  through  the  next  few  months,  and  then,  what- 
ever happens,  we  start  afresh!" 

"But  if  I  want  to  stay?" 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  finality  from  which 
she  knew  there  was  no  appeal.  What  Geoffrey 
Sterne  said  he  meant,  to  the  last  letter  of  the  word, 
and  there  was  no  turning  him  from  a  decision. 
Meriel  felt  the  terror  of  one  who,  playing  among 
flowers,  sees  a  sudden  vision  of  a  serpent's  head. 
A  moment  before  their  lives  had  seemed  indefinitely 
linked,  now,  in  a  few  months,  must  come  separa- 
tion, as  complete  as  though  they  were  at  opposite 
ends  of  the  world,  for  Sterne  now  lived  entirely  in 
his  country  home,  and  shunned  the  society  of  his 
fellows.  She  searched  his  face  for  some  sign  of 
grief,  even  of  regret,  but  the  stern  features  were 
set  in  a  mask-like  composure.  The  terrible  sus- 
picion stabbed  her  that  he  might  be  glad;  that  he 
was  wearied  of  the  burden  of  gratitude! 

For  the  next  few  days  Meriel  and  Sterne  mutu- 
ally avoided  being  left  alone,  which  was  the  more 
easily  accomplished,  as  Flora  was  showing  signs  of 
renewed  restlessness  and  irritability.  The  novelty 
of  the  voyage  had  worn  off,  the  heat  of  the  Canal 
had  tried  her  endurance,  and  dreaded  symptoms 
called  for  renewed  vigilance  on  the  part  of  her 
attendants.  Now  they  were  out  on  the  Indian 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness   201 

Ocean;  but  for  once  the  change  brought  little  relief 
and  the  nerves  of  the  travellers  were  tried  still 
further  by  a  slight  accident  to  the  engines,  which 
involved  a  slackening  of  speed.  They  were  within 
three  days'  sail  of  Colombo  when  the  glass  fell 
sharply  after  a  period  of  intense  heat — a  danger 
signal,  which  to  the  understanding  was  rendered 
more  alarming  by  the  sound  of  hammerings  from 
below,  denoting  fresh  mischief  in  the  machinery. 
A  cyclonic  storm  was  upon  them,  and  the  boat 
altered  her  course  to  avoid  its  centre — a  peril- 
ous business  in  face  of  the  long  chain  of  reefs 
stretching  southward  from  the  Laccadives.  At 
nightfall  there  came  up  a  grey  swell  accompanied 
by  almost  unbearable  heat,  the  wind  rapidly  in- 
creased, and  in  an  hour  the  gale  burst  upon  them 
in  all  its  fury.  That  night  was  a  nightmare  of 
horror,  for  although  the  boat  was  headed  for  the 
open  sea,  the  crippled  engines  were  unable  to  sup- 
port the  strain,  and  she  was  therefore  driven  back 
into  the  danger  zone.  The  waters  were  lashed  into 
a  churning  fury,  the  wind  yelled  with  a  deafening 
menace.  Flora  cowered  in  bed  in  a  panic  of  terror, 
but  to  Meriel  the  tumult  of  the  elements  brought 
relief  rather  than  dread.  They  voiced  the  tumult 
of  her  own  mind;  the  shriek  of  the  wind  was  as 
the  shriek  of  her  own  tortured  heart. 


202  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  dawn  was  breaking  when  the  crash  came,  a 
thunderous  crash  of  rock  and  steel  as  the  great 
vessel  struck  the  reef,  shook  herself  free,  and  struck 
again,  her  stern  grinding  deep  into  the  rock.  In 
that  moment  every  soul  on  board  looked  death  in 
the  face,  and  it  seemed,  indeed,  as  though  death 
were  inevitable.  The  heroic  efforts  of  the  crew 
succeeded  in  launching  the  boats,  but  several  of 
the  number  were  swamped  before  the  eyes  of  the 
beholders,  and  for  the  rest  the  chance  of  survival 
on  such  a  sea  seemed  small  indeed.  Even  so,  there 
was  a  fight  for  a  place,  for  to  remain  on  the  ship 
meant  a  certainty  of  death,  and  the  wildest  chance 
is  precious  in  such  a  plight,  but  among  the  men 
and  women  who  fought  and  struggled  was  no 
member  of  Geoffrey  Sterne's  party. 

Flora's  panic  of  terror  had  been  so  violent  that 
it  had  been  necessary  to  drug  her  with  a  strong 
sleeping  draught,  and  the  faithful  maid  refused  to 
leave  her  side.  Sterne  had,  indeed,  made  an  at- 
tempt to  persuade  Meriel  to  try  for  a  place,  but 
she  had  flamed  into  bitter  anger,  and  he  had  not 
persisted.  He  saw  her  seated  with  the  other 
waiting  ones  in  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  already 
tilted  high  above  the  bow,  and  turned  in  silence 
to  make  his  way  to  his  wife. 

That  moment  for  Meriel  was  the  bitterest  of  all. 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness   203 

The  act  of  death  itself  had  for  her  no  terror;  it  was 
the  parting  from  Geoffrey  Sterne  which  wrung 
her  heart.  So  inextricably  had  her  life  become 
woven  with  his  that  she  had  no  wish  to  live  in  a 
world  from  which  he  was  absent,  and  if  she  lived  on, 
separation  was  bound  to  come.  Only  one  unutter- 
able regret  filled  her  soul — she  was  going  out  into 
eternity  a  maimed,  stunted  thing,  from  whom  had 
been  withheld  the  meaning  of  life,  the  deepest 
part  of  whose  nature  had  been  persistently  starved. 

"If  for  even  one  minute  I  could  have  said,  '/ 
am  happy!1  I  could  have  died  content.  But  I 
have  never  known  happiness,  and  now  death  is 
coming,  and  I  am  waiting  for  it  alone. " 

In  that  last  word  lay  the  sting.  She  was  alone ; 
the  solitary  unit  among  the  crowd  who  had  no  one 
to  comfort  her,  and  to  comfort  in  return ;  to  whose 
hand  no  one  clung  as  to  the  one  sure  support.  She 
was  alone! 

At  that  moment  she  saw  him  coming,  edging 
his  way  along  the  sloping  deck,  with  the  sure  foot, 
the  calm,  deliberate  movements,  which  were  so 
emblematic  of  his  strength.  Cautiously,  slowly, 
as  he  came,  there  was  never  a  moment  of  wavering 
in  his  course.  His  mind  had  registered  her  position 
among  the  crowd  of  waiting  figures;  quietly,  stead- 
ily, he  was  making  his  way  to  her  side. 


204  What  a  Man  Wills 

Meriel  looked  around.  Surrounded  as  she  was, 
she  was  yet  in  a  solitude  as  vast  as  space.  To 
right  and  left  the  mummied  figures  crouched  in 
hypnotized  calm,  oblivious  of  everything  but  them- 
selves and  their  own  peril.  She  was  alone  on  the 
great  deck, — alone,  but  for  that  other  figure,  climb- 
ing step  by  step  to  her  side. 

The  early  light  shone  on  him  as  he  came,  lighting 
up  his  figure  with  an  unearthly  distinctness.  She 
saw  the  grey  streaks  in  the  dark  hair,  the  furrows 
which  sorrow  had  carved  upon  his  brow,  yet  despite 
them  all  there  was  about  the  whole  figure  an  air  of 
youth,  an  alertness  and  confidence  of  bearing, 
which  she  had  never  before  beheld.  He  bore 
himself  like  a  freed  man,  from  whose  limbs  the 
fetters  have  fallen. 

Another  moment  and  he  was  beside  her,  crouched 
on  the  deck  with  his  face  close  to  her  own.  The 
freed  look  was  in  his  eyes. 

"She  is  still  sleeping,"  he  said;  "she  will  not 
wake.  It  is  better  so.  I  can  do  no  more  for 
her.  And  so — at  last ! — I  can  come  to  you. " 

"Yes,"  assented  Meriel  breathlessly.  There 
was  more  to  come,  she  read  it  in  his  face,  in  the 
thrilling  tone  of  his  voice.  She  waited,  her  being 
strung  with  an  agony  of  longing. 

"There  are  only  a  few  minutes  left,  and  we  have 


Girl  Who  Asked  for  Happiness   205 

waited  so  long!  We  must  not  waste  them  now 
that  they  are  here .  .  .  .  Come  to  me,  Meriel!" 

He  held  out  his  arms  and  she  swayed  into  them ; 
his  lips  were  on  hers ;  they  clung  together  with  the 
stored-up  passion  of  years.  For  a  minute  the 
communion  of  touch  brought  a  fullness  of  joy, 
then  the  craving  arose  to  hear  the  wonder  put 
into  words. 

' '  You  love  me  ?  It  is  true  ?  Oh,  Geoffrey — how 
long?" 

"Since  the  moment  we  met.  How  could  I  help 
it?  It  was  inevitable.  We  belong!"  He  held 
her  face  between  his  hands,  bending  so  close  that 
she  could  feel  his  breath  on  her  cheek.  ' '  You  have 
been  my  star  and  my  sun ;  sunshine  of  noon ;  light 
in  the  darkness.  You  have  been  comfort  and  rest ; 
deliverance  from  despair.  You  have  been  my 
love,  and  my  queen,  and  my  inspiration;  the  one 
beautiful  strong  thing  that  stood  fast  among  the 
ruins.  Everything  that  a  woman  could  be  to  a 
man  you  have  been  to  me  for  four  long  years!" 

"Thank  God!"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  thank  God! 
It  is  worth  it  all  to  hear  you  say  that.  But,  oh, 
Geoffrey,  there  were  times — so  many  times!  when 
I  would  have  given  my  life  a  hundred  times  over 
to  have  lain  like  this,  to  have  felt  your  arms.  It 
was  hard  to  struggle  on,  fighting  one's  heart,  and 


206  What  a  Man  Wills 

now  at  last  when  we  have  come  together,  to  be 
obliged  to  part!  Oh,  Geoffrey,  to  say  good-bye  so 
soon!" 

"No,"  he  said  deeply.  "Not  that.  We'll 
say  no  good-bye.  We  have  stuck  to  our  posts, 
but  where  we  are  going  there  can  be  no  tie  but  the 
one  which  binds  your  heart  to  mine.  We  belong ! 
Nothing  can  part  us.  Shut  your  eyes,  beloved! 
rest  against  me.  It's  the  night  that  is  coming, — 
a  short  night,  and  a  nightmare  dream,  and  then, 
for  you  and  me" — his  voice  swelled  to  a  note  of 
triumphant  expectation — "the  morning!  " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  happy!"  cried  Meriel,  trembling. 
"Oh,  I'm  so  happy!" 

The  deck  shivered  and  reeled.  From  every  side 
rose  a  shrilling  of  voices.  The  great  ship  reared 
herself  on  end,  and  plunged  headlong  into  the 
deep. 

So  the  barrier  fell ! 


VIII 

THE  MAN  WHO  WISHED  FOR  DANGER 

VAL  LESSING'S  thirtieth  birthday  found  him 
strong,  handsome,  prosperous,  and — discontented. 
This  is  unfortunately  a  common  combination,  but 
Val  acknowledged  to  himself  that  if  other  men  in 
like  position  had  small  cause  to  grumble,  he  himself 
had  less,  for  while  they  ungraciously  demanded  of 
fate  still  more  than  they  had  received,  his  one  an- 
noyance was  that  he  had  enjoyed  so  much. 

He  had  never  desired  to  find  himself  at  thirty 
a  director  of  a  prosperous  City  firm ;  the  thing  had 
come  about  through  a  succession  of  unforeseen 
events.  The  death  of  his  father  had  made  it  neces- 
sary that  he  should  take  up  business  immediately 
after  leaving  Oxford;  that  was  blow  number  one, 
for  he  had  been  promised  a  tour  round  the  world 
before  settling  down  to  work,  and  in  its  place  found 
himself  obliged  to  look  forward  to  yearly  fortnights 
lengthening,  as  a  reward  of  merit,  to  a  possible 
three  weeks. 

207 


208  What  a  Man  Wills 

Val  hated  the  work,  but  he  set  himself  to  it  with 
characteristic  dash  and  energy.  He  possessed  a 
bull-dog  inability  to  let  go  of  any  scheme  once 
undertaken,  which  marked  him  out  sharply  from 
the  ordinary  more  or  less  mechanical  employees, 
and  endeared  him  to  the  principals  of  the  firm. 

The  "Chief"  singled  him  out  for  special  service. 
His  salary  rose  steadily  year  by  year,  and  on  the 
date  on  which  this  history  begins,  he  had  been 
formally  presented  with  a  proportion  of  shares, 
and  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  a  Director  in  the 
Company. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Chief  in  congratulation, 
"your  foot  is  safely  planted  on  the  ladder  of  for- 
tune. You  can  count  on  at  least  fifteen  hundred 
a  year." 

Walking  towards  his  home  that  night  Val  grudg- 
ingly considered  those  words.  As  a  sane,  sensible 
man,  he  must  of  course  rejoice  that  his  work  had 
brought  him  so  good  a  reward,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  wording  of  that  sentence  which  chafed 
an  old  sore.  Safe  !  That  was  the  sting.  A  man 
of  thirty  years,  and — safe  !  Secured  from  anxiety, 
lapped  round  with  comforts — nothing  to  do  now 
but  keep  steadily  along  the  beaten  rut.  Eight- 
fifty  Tube  in  the  morning;  six  o'clock  Tube  at 
night;  two- thirty  Tube  on  Saturday  afternoons, 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    209 

always  the  same  black-coated,  tall-hatted  figure 
growing,  with  the  passage  of  years,  a  thought 
heavier,  a  thought  wider,  but  always  sleek,  always 
composed — always  safe  I 

Val  Lessing  reviewed  the  prospect,  and  once 
again,  more  wildly  than  ever,  his  vagrant  heart 
cried  out  in  protest.  Oh!  it  had  been  a  different 
life  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  in  the  days  that 
were  gone — the  mad,  glad,  foolhardy  days  when  all 
he  had  asked  of  fate  was  a  passage  through  that 
highway  of  adventure,  where  a  thrill  lay  behind 
every  bush,  and  a  danger  at  every  turn. 

Danger — danger — the  very  word  brought  ex- 
hilaration; the  ring  of  it,  the  thrill  of  it,  the  wild, 
sweet  savour  which  it  bore!  Oh,  to  be  out  on  the 
highway,  away  from  the  treadmill  of  City  life; 
oh,  to  wake  in  the  morning,  to  pull  aside  a  flapping 
canvas,  inhale  the  clean  air  blowing  over  great 
plains,  and  across  frowning  ridges  of  mount- 
ains, to  step  forth  on  the  day's  quest,  sure  of  no- 
thing, nothing  in  all  the  world,  but  of  danger  to 
overcome ! 

Val  Lessing's  home  was  represented  by  a  bache- 
lor flat,  presided  over  by  a  respectable  middle-aged 
couple.  The  mother  for  whose  sake  he  had  re- 
signed himself  to  a  business  career  had  died  some 
years  before,  but  he  was  still  responsible  for  a 

14 


210  What  a  Man  Wills 

young  brother  and  sister,  and  obliged  to  make  a 
home  for  them  during  holiday  seasons.  The  noisy 
incursion  was  not  always  welcome,  all  the  same  the 
flat  became  a  very  dreary  place  when  the  lively 
pair  had  taken  themselves  schoolwards  once  more, 
and  a  solitary  dinner  was  a  thing  to  be  avoided. 

Lessing,  as  a  bachelor,  had  grown  into  the  habit 
of  taking  the  evening  meal  in  town,  and  had  dis- 
covered a  certain  very  Bohemian  restaurant  where 
most  excellent  cooking  was  supplied  to  as  odd  a 
looking  company  as  ever  assembled  within  four 
walls.  He  found  a  never-ending  interest  in  watch- 
ing his  fellow  diners  and  pondering  over  the  secrets 
of  their  existence.  It  was  at  least  safe  to  conclude 
that  they  did  not  share  his  own  ground  for  com- 
plaint! Dinner  over,  Lessing  frequently  suc- 
cumbed to  an  impulse  which  drew  him  towards  a 
large  corner  house  in  a  square  adjoining  his  flat, 
wherein  a  particularly  happy  family  party  lived, 
and  loved,  and  laughed,  and  extended  the  most 
cordial  of  welcomes  to  uninvited  guests. 

Mr.  Gordon  was  a  business  man,  who,  having 
accumulated  a  modest  "pile,"  had  promptly 
retired  from  the  City,  and  now  devoted  himself 
to  the  performance  of  good  works  for  the  benefit 
of  others,  and  the  collection  of  old  china  for  the 
satisfaction  of  himself.  Mrs.  Gordon  was  a 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    211 

matron  of  the  plump  and  complacent  order,  an 
excellent  manager,  who  did  not  know  the  meaning 
of  fuss,  and  whose  servants  invariably  stayed  with 
her  for  years,  and  then  departed,  laden  with  spoils, 
to  espouse  a  local  baker  or  grocer,  and  live  happily 
ever  afterwards. 

Delia,  the  daughter,  was  a  minx.  She  was  slim 
and  tall,  and  had  crinkly  dark  eyebrows,  and  an 
oval  face,  and  misty  grey  eyes  with  a  dreamy,  far- 
away expression,  and  fringed  with  a  double  row  of 
preposterously  long  eyelashes.  She  looked  par- 
ticularly dreamy  and  inaccessible  when  young 
men  came  in  to  call,  and  they  mentally  abased 
themselves  before  her,  gazing  with  dazzled  eyes  at 
the  pinnacle  on  which  she  stood,  in  maiden  medita- 
tion,— exquisitely,  wondrously,  crystally  uncon- 
scious of  their  own  rough  existence.  And  all  the 
time  there  was  not  a  line  of  their  features,  not  a 
kink  in  their  neckties,  that  that  minx  Delia  did  not 
see  with  the  minuteness  of  a  microscope ! 

Terence,  the  son,  was  walking  the  hospitals, 
kept  a  collection  of  bones  in  his  coat  pocket,  and 
looked  upon  life  as  a  huge  jest  organized  for  his 
special  benefit;  loyally  returning  the  compliment 
by  playing  jests  himself  on  every  available  oppor- 
tunity. In  holiday  time,  he  was  most  useful  as  a 
companion  to  the  two  scholars  with  whom  he  was  a 


212  What  a  Man  Wills 

prime  favourite,  but  in  term  time  Lessing  regarded 
him  with  mitigated  favour.  As  a  conversationalist 
he  preferred  the  father;  as  a  confidante,  the  mother; 
where  Delia  was  concerned  he  preferred  a  tete-d- 
tHe.  Terence  was  a  very  good  sort,  but  he  was 
apt  to  be  decidedly  de  trop. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  he  had  been 
made  a  director  of  his  company,  Lessing  took  his 
way  to  the  corner  house,  and  found  the  amiable 
quartette  disporting  themselves  after  their  separate 
ways  in  the  comfortable  sitting-room  which  was 
their  favourite  evening  resort.  Mr.  Gordon  was 
reading  the  latest  treatise  on  Oriental  china.  Mrs. 
Gordon  was  knitting  mufflers  for  deep-sea  fisher- 
men, and  lending  an  appreciative  ear  to  Delia,  who, 
seated  at  the  grand  piano,  was  singing  ballads  in 
a  very  small  but  penetratingly  sweet  voice.  It  was 
part  of  Delia's  minxiness  that  she  elected  to  sing 
songs  intended  for  masculine  lovers,  wherein  were 
set  forth  panegyrics  which  might  most  aptly  be 
applied  to  herself.  On  this  occasion  she  was 
declaiming  that  "My  love  is  like  a  red,  red  rose 
that's  newly  blown  in  June.  Oh,  my  love's  like 
a  mel-o-dy  that's  sweetly  played  in  tune";  and 
so  sweet  was  the  air,  so  sweet  the  rose-like  bloom 
of  her  own  youth,  that  her  father's  eyes  strayed 
continuously  from  his  pages,  and  rested  on  her 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    213 

with  an  admiration  reverent  in  its  intensity. 
"She  is  too  beautiful,  too  pure  for  this  world"; 
his  eyes  seemed  to  say.  "Can  it  be  possible  that 
she  is  really  my  own  daughter?"  The  mother's 
eyes  strayed  also,  but  there  was  no  reverence  in 
her  gaze.  She  had  been  a  minx  herself. 

Terence  was  reading  the  latest  popular  thriller, 
and  from  time  to  time  diversifying  the  entertain- 
ment by  kicking  one  of  his  patent  leather  pumps 
into  the  air,  and  adroitly  fitting  his  toes  into  it  on 
its  return  journey,  an  accomplishment  on  which 
he  had  wasted  golden  hours. 

They  all  looked  up  and  smiled  a  welcome  as  Val 
Lessing  entered  and  went  round  the  room  greeting 
each  member  of  the  family  in  turn. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Gordon.  Good  evening, 
sir.  Delia,  please!  Don't  let  me  interrupt." 

Delia  smiled  absently,  and  crossed  the  room  to  a 
deep  chair  which  was  supplied  with  an  admirable 
foil  for  white  shoulders  in  the  shape  of  a  black  satin 
cushion.  She  had  the  air  of  being  only  partially 
aware  of  Lessing's  presence,  but  in  reality  she  was 
acutely  conscious  of  everything  concerning  him, 
even  to  a  certain  air  of  impatience  which  was  due 
to  the  importance  of  the  news  which  he  had  to  com- 
municate. Delia  was  in  love  with  Val  Lessing,  and 
was  uncomfortably  aware  of  the  fact.  Val  was  in 


214  What  a  Man  Wills 

love  with  Delia,  but  remained  as  yet  in  comfortable 
ignorance.  Delia  had  always  planned  that  it 
should  be  the  other  way  about.  She  had  pictured 
herself  being  wooed  with  assiduous  devotion  by  a 
lover  who  refused  to  be  daunted  by  a  dozen  noes. 
It  was  ignominious  to  realize  that  she  was  now 
waiting  impatiently  for  the  chance  to  cry,  "Yes, 
please!" 

Val  seated  himself,  nodding  carelessly  at  Terence, 
who  greeted  him  by  a  brilliant  example  of  slipper 
catching,  and  cried  genially: 

"Well,  old  Tomkins,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  You  look  as  if  something  was  sitting 
pretty  heavy  on  your  chest!" 

"It  is!"  said  Val,  and  Delia's  heart  went  a  little 
excursion  on  its  own  accord.  Was  he  going  to 
say  that  he  was  engaged  ? 

"Good  news,  I  hope,  eh,  Lessing?"  cried  Mr. 
Gordon,  and  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  Val 
hesitated. 

"Er — yes.  I  suppose — that  is,  of  course,  it  is 
very  good  indeed.  I've  been  made  a  director." 

Everybody  exclaimed,  everybody  enthused, 
everybody  congratulated,  with  the  exception  of 
Delia,  who  asked  lazily:  "What  is  a  director?" 
and  yawned  when  she  was  told.  Mr.  Gordon 
showed  the  sympathy  of  understanding,  but  after 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    215 

putting  many  questions,  and  listening  to  half- 
hearted replies,  he  frowned,  and  delivered  himself 
of  an  honest  criticism. 

"You're  not  half  as  pleased  as  you  ought  to  be, 
Lessing !  A  man  of  your  age  ought  to  be  thankful 
to  be  in  such  a  position.  A  start  of  fifteen  hundred 
a  year — in  such  a  firm  too.  Good,  safe,  solid  peo- 
ple. No  fear  of  them  going  in  for  speculation  and 
landing  you  in  the  bankruptcy  court.  Humanly 
speaking  you're  safe  from  anxiety  for  the  rest  of 
your  life." 

"Er — yes.  That's  just  it."  Lessing  said 
vaguely,  but  his  friends  understood.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  he  had  rebelled  in  their  hear- 
ing; not  the  first  time  by  many  that  he  had  sighed 
for  the  vagrant's  lot. 

"He  doesn't  want  to  be  safe,  bless  you!  That's 
just  what  gets  him  on  the  raw!"  Terence  said 
grinning.  "He  wants  to  be  a  fire-and-thunder 
swashbuckler,  out  on  the  pathless  wilds." 

"What  is  a  swashbuckler?"  asked  Delia,  and 
Val  laughed,  and  said: 

"The  very  opposite  to  a  director  in  a  black  coat 
and  tall  hat,  Delia.  Think  it  out  for  yourself! 
I  only  wish  I  had  the  chance. " 

Delia  looked  thoughtful.  She  was  apportion- 
ing fifteen  hundred  pounds  on  the  upkeep  of  her 


2i6  What  a  Man  Wills 

future  home.  She  decided  on  a  small  flat  and  a 
runabout  car,  and  rather  thought  that  the  drawing- 
room  should  be  pink.  Mrs.  Gordon  said  seriously : 

"Dear  Val,  you  must  get  the  better  of  these 
foolish  ideas!  They  are  spoiling  your  life.  You 
have  so  much  that  other  men  want,  that  it  seems 
really  wicked  to  be  discontented  because  you  have 
not — trouble!  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  it  will  come  soon 
enough!  You  ought  to  be  thankful!" 

"But  it's  not  trouble,  Mrs.  Gordon!  I  want 
trouble  no  more  than  any  other  man.  It's  danger 
that  fascinates  me — adventure — the  thrill  of  the 
unknown.  It  was  born  in  me,  I  suppose.  My 
ancestors  were  a  race  of  explorers.  If  I  had  been 
able  to  have  a  fling  in  my  youth,  I  might  have  been 
able  to  settle  down,  but  I  went  straight  from  Oxford 
to  the  City,  and  a  longing  that  is  bottled  up  doesn't 
diminish,  it  goes  on  growing  all  the  time.  When 
Mr.  Baron  told  me  the  news  to-day,  I  felt — you'll 
be  horrified  at  my  ingratitude ! — as  if  a  halter  had 
been  slipped  round  my  neck. " 

Mr.  Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"It's  a  thousand  pities  that  you  could  not  take 
that  trip!  If  you'd  been  my  son  I'd  have  packed 
you  off  with  five  pounds  in  your  pocket,  to  work 
your  own  way  round  the  world.  You'd  have  had 
enough  excitement  to  last  you  for  the  rest  of  your 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    217 

life — and  danger  into  the  bargain.  You'd  be 
thankful  then  to  settle  down  to  your  present  life." 

"Oh,  I'm  thankful  enough  now.  It's  quite  a 
good  life  as  things  go,  but  just  a  bit  boring." 

Terence  kicked  his  slipper  once  more. 

"Well — what  price  the  hospital  ball  next  week? 
That  won't  be  boring,  I  give  you  my  word.  We're 
having  a  party  to  dinner  here,  and  going  on  to- 
gether. If  you  like  to  chip  in " 

1 '  Terence !  Don't  be  cruel.  We  really  must  not 
add  to  his  boredom!"  cried  Delia,  smiling,  but 
there  was  an  edge  in  her  smile. 

Terence  grimaced  expressively  at  Lessing,  a 
grimace  which  said,  "Now  you've  done  it!  She's 
got  her  knife  into  you  for  that  remark!" 

Kindly  Mrs.  Gordon  sensed  the  strain  in  the 
atmosphere,  and  said  quickly: 

"Do  sing  something  more  to  us,  Delia  darling. 
You  had  only  begun.  A  few  more  of  those  dear 
old  ballads!" 

Delia  was  like  her  mother,  she  never  made  a  fuss, 
so  she  rose  with  a  slow,  graceful  gesture,  seated 
herself  in  her  old  place,  and  sang  one  strain  after 
another  with  the  utmost  good  humour.  The  last 
of  all  was  that  delightful  ballad  entitled  ' '  Phillida 
flouts  me,"  and  this  she  delivered  with  much  energy 
and  verve,  throwing  aside  her  languid  airs  to 


218  What  a  Man  Wills 

adopt  the  very  attitude  of  the  damsel  of  the 
song. 

Lessing  loved  to  hear  Delia  sing,  and  to-night 
he  laughed  with  the  rest,  at  the  pretty  by-play  of 
tossing  head  and  curling  lips,  but  he  was  not  al- 
together happy  in  his  mind.  He  remembered  the 
chill  of  the  girl's  voice  a  few  minutes  before,  as  she 
said:  "We  mustn't  bore  him  still  more!"  and  he 
felt  uncomfortable  as  if  it  were  he  himself  who  was 
being  flouted. 

As  he  walked  down  the  quiet  streets  on  his  way 
home,  the  words  repeated  themselves  in  his  brain : 

"  Oh,  what  a  plague  is  love!     I  cannot  bear  it 
Alack  and  well  a-day.     Phillida  flouts  me!" 

It  was  the  night  after  the  hospital  ball,  and  Less- 
ing  was  dining  at  his  favourite  restaurant,  hoping 
thereby  to  counteract  a  fit  of  unusual  depression. 
He  had  not  enjoyed  that  ball ;  it  was  borne  in  upon 
him  that  Delia  had  not  intended  him  to  enjoy  it. 
She  had  deliberately  filled  her  programme  before 
the  night,  and  vouchsafed  him  only  one  extra, 
and  during  the  dancing  thereof  had  stopped  three 
times  over  to  inquire  if  he  were  quite  sure  he  was 
not  bored!  Delia  was  angry  with  him.  Delia 
most  pronouncedly  was  disposed  to  "flout." 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    219 

There  was  an  ache  at  Lessing's  heart  which  seemed 
ludicrously  out  of  proportion  with  the  cause. 

For  the  first  half  of  his  meal  he  sat  alone  at  his 
table,  then  the  seat  opposite  him  was  taken  by  one 
of  the  swarthy  bearded  foreigners  with  which  the 
place  abounded.  He  was  a  man  of  early  middle 
age,  with  a  mop  of  black  hair  slightly  tinged  with 
grey,  overhanging  eyebrows,  and  a  general  air  of 
poverty  and  Bohemianism.  He  ate  hungrily,  as 
though  such  good  food  did  not  often  come  his  way, 
and  as  he  ate  his  eyes  roamed  stealthily  round  the 
room.  Lessing  decided  that  he  was  in  search  of  a 
confederate — the  man's  appearance  suggested  the 
word — and  that  he  was  puzzled  and  alarmed  by  the 
absence  of  what  he  sought.  He  decided  to  dally 
with  his  own  meal  so  as  to  see  this  thing  out. 
Many  a  time  he  had  longed  for  an  opportunity  of 
adventure.  Now  it  might  be  at  hand.  If  the  two 
men  met,  he  would  leave  the  restaurant  in  their 
wake  and  track  them  through  the  narrow  streets! 
He  recalled  written  scenes  concerning  open  door- 
ways, fights  on  staircases,  and  the  like,  and  thrilled 
with  anticipation. 

Throughout  his  meal  the  Bearded  One  continued 
his  scrutiny,  and  Lessing  noticed  that  his  glance 
lingered  tentatively  on  one  or  two  men  present 
as  though  uncertain  of  their  identity.  It  was  not 


220  What  a  Man  Wills 

entirely  by  appearance,  then,  that  he  could  dis- 
tinguish his  confederate!  There  was  evidently  a 
sign  which  would  expose  one  to  the  other,  and  then 
suddenly,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  diner  at  an  adja- 
cent table,  the  Bearded  One  raised  his  knife,  and 
with  a  clean,  incisive  movement  swept  the  salt 
from  his  plate  on  to  the  table. 

The  other  diner  ate  on  undisturbed,  but  an  elec- 
tric shock  of  excitement  tingled  through  Lessing's 
veins.  More  than  once  before  he  had  observed 
this  deliberate  spilling  of  the  salt  on  the  round- 
topped  tables  of  that  restaurant,  so  often,  indeed, 
that  he  had  made  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  it  was 
in  the  nature  of  a  signal  from  one  member  of  a 
fraternity  to  another.  The  spilling  of  the  salt — 
symbol  from  all  ages  of  disaster,  a  meet  signal 
indeed  for  these  dark  and  dangerous  men ! 

With  an  impulse  which  crystallized  the  longings 
of  years,  Lessing  attracted  his  companion's  at- 
tention by  a  hasty  movement,  and  then,  lifting 
high  his  knife,  swept  his  own  salt  on  to  the  cloth 
so  that  the  white  dust  scattered  and  mingled  with 
the  dust  already  spread. 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  swarthy 
face  bent  forward  to  meet  his  own,  the  eyes 
gleamed,  the  guttural  voice  breathed  a  deep,  low 
word: 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    221 

"Brother!" 

"Brother!  "  whispered  Lessing  in  return.  His 
pulses  were  racing,  but  he  held  himself  resolutely 
in  hand.  A  false  move  might  spoil  all.  He  must 
be  silent,  and  let  the  other  man  do  the  talking. 
He  sat  in  an  attitude  of  attention  while  the 
Bearded  One  crouched  over  the  table,  speaking  in 
baited  tones.  His  accent  was  rather  Jewish  than 
foreign,  a  thick,  ugly  voice,  thickened  as  though 
by  some  physical  obstruction. 

"I  have  been  waiting.  The  time  is  short.  I 
must  be  hurrying  on.  There  are  many  places 
where  I  must  carry  the  news!"  His  voice  sank 
to  an  almost  unbearable  depth.  "It  is  for 
to-night !  " 

"To-night!"  gasped  Lessing  in  return.  His 
real  dismay  at  the  nearness  of  the  unknown  hap- 
pening supplied  a  genuine  note  to  his  exclamation, 
and  it  appeared  that  surprise  was  expected. 

"To-night!  To-night!  The  chief  has  given 
the  order.  It  is  his  way  to  make  all  ready,  and  at 
the  last  to  give  but  a  few  hours'  notice.  It  is 
safer  so.  He  has  a  wise  head.  All  is  arranged, 
and  to-morrow,  by  this  time  to-morrow — " 
His  lips  rolled  back,  the  large  prominent  teeth 
gleamed  in  a  smile  of  diabolic  delight.  "London, 
the  city  of  the  oppressors — what  will  be  left  of  the 


222  What  a  Man  Wills 

great  London  then?  Nothing  but  a  wilderness  of 
fire  and  ruin!" 

Lessing's  blood  ran  cold.  An  adventurer  at 
heart,  he  yet  had  the  true  Englishman's  love  of 
the  metropolis.  At  the  thought  of  danger  to 
London  he  winced  as  at  a  personal  wound;  in  his 
heart  dawned  the  surprising  conviction  that  he 
would  risk  his  own  life,  not  once,  but  a  dozen  times 
over,  to  avert  the  destruction  of  that  grey  old 
pile. 

The  destruction  of  London — mad  words!  Mad 
fancy!  Was  this  man  a  maniac  that  he  spoke  of 
such  an  impossible  feat?  Agitated,  almost  gasp- 
ing for  breath,  Lessing  heard  himself  stammer 
detached  words  of  inquiry: 

"When?  Where?  Where—  How  do  they 
start ?" 

The  answer  came  back  in  a  low  hissing  whisper: 

"The  oil  tanks  on  the  Thames!  Ah — ha, 
it  is  a  great  scheme,  a  fine  scheme.  The  fuel  is 
lying  there,  ready  to  our  hands.  Three  Brothers 
have  volunteered  for  the  bomb  throwing.  They 
will  die  for  a  great  cause.  Their  names  will  be 
remembered  as  martyrs  among  us.  The  burning 
oil  will  flare  out  to  the  Thames.  Think  of  it! 
Think  of  it !  A  river  of  flaming  oil,  joined  by  other 
rivers;  all  the  tanks  exploded,  one  by  one;  the 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    223 

stream  of  fire  flowing  along,  leaving  behind  burning 
shipping,  burning  banks,  spreading  ruin  to  right 
and  left.  Think  of  it,  Brother,  think  of  it !  Think 
of  the  dark  stairways  and  passages,  where  a  man 
may  creep,  a  man  with  a  torch  helping  the  work, 
sending  the  sparks  to  a  fresh  home.  Who  can 
guard  miles  of  river  bank?  Who  can  distinguish 
one  worker  from  another?  Ah,  it  will  be  a  brave 
night,  a  brave  night.  We  have  waited,  Brother, 
we  have  appeared  to  submit,  but  now — now— 

His  voice  grew  hoarse  with  excitement.  Lessing 
pressed  his  knee  gently  beneath  the  table. 

"Careful.  Be  careful.  We  are  observed.  Give 
me  my  orders!" 

The  Bearded  One  drew  himself  up,  and  made  a 
pretence  of  continuing  his  meal.  His  voice  sank 
to  its  old,  guttural  tones. 

"To  stay  here,  and  pass  round  the  word.  All 
the  Brothers  to  be  on  duty,  except  those  watched 
by  the  police.  Red  Fist  and  Wharbuton  to  leave 
by  the  nine  o'clock  train  from  Charing  Cross,  and 
cross  to  Paris.  Their  departure  is  to  be  as  public 
as  possible.  It  would  be  well  if  they  were  given 
a  send-off.  If  they  are  out  of  the  way  the  watch 
will  be  relaxed.  At  all  costs  they  must  be  found. 
I  go  on  to  other  places,  you  stay  here,  meet  other 
Brothers,  give  them  all  this  message.  Red  Fist 


224  What  a  Man  Wills 

and  Wharbuton  to  be  found  and  sent  off.  All 
others  on  duty  to-night.  Not  a  moment  to  waste. " 

"Right,"  said  Lessing  quickly,  and  the  Bearded 
One  rose  from  his  seat.  Then  followed  a  moment 
of  tension,  for  suddenly,  as  if  in  default  of  a  parting 
signal,  the  beetling  brows  frowned  upon  him,  and 
a  glance  of  indecision  swept  across  the  face.  Less- 
ing  sensed  the  danger,  and  leaped  to  avert  it. 
Touching  the  salt  with  his  fingers,  he  said  mean- 
ingly: "We  are  watched,  Brother.  We  are 
watched!"  and  bent  his  head  over  his  plate. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence,  then  the  thick 
voice  bade  him  good  night,  and  he  knew  that  the 
danger  was  past.  The  next  moment  the  swing 
doors  of  the  restaurant  opened  and  shut.  The 
Bearded  One  had  disappeared. 

For  an  endless  five  minutes  Lessing  forced  him- 
self to  sit  still,  then  he  paid  his  account,  put  on  his 
hat,  and  opening  the  door,  stood  on  the  outer  step 
of  the  restaurant  looking  anxiously  to  right  and  to 
left.  He  had  purposely  left  behind  his  coat,  since 
in  the  event  of  finding  the  Bearded  One  still  hang- 
ing about,  he  could  then  be  able  to  assert  that  he 
was  impatiently  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  more 
Brothers.  The  night  was  chill  and  there  were  but 
few  pedestrians  in  the  narrow  street.  Running  his 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    225 

eye  to  right  and  left  he  could  count  a  dozen  in  all, 
no  one  of  whom  bore  any  resemblance  in  figure  or 
clothing  to  his  late  companion. 

A  better  moment  for  escape  could  not  be  desired, 
and  as  if  sent  by  Providence  a  taxi  suddenly  came 
into  sight,  and  the  chauffeur  held  up  an  inquiring 
hand.  In  another  second  Lessing  was  seated  in- 
side, and  had  given  an  address  in  Mayfair.  He 
did  not  risk  returning  for  his  coat,  a  telephone 
message  to  the  manager  would  possibly  secure  it 
from  theft,  if  not  the  coat  must  go.  This  was  not  a 
moment  for  considering  coats. 

Lessing  sat  motionless  on  his  seat  until  the  taxi 
had  covered  a  couple  of  miles  westwards,  when  he 
touched  the  communicating  cord  and  startled  the 
chauffeur  by  an  imperative  order: 

"Scotland  Yard.     And  as  quick  as  you  can  go ! " 

Throughout  the  years  that  followed  Lessing 
remembered  his  interview  with  the  Scotland  Yard 
officials  with  a  smarting  indignation.  To  his 
excited  senses  the  calmness,  the  stolidity,  the  insist- 
ent incredulity  which  greeted  his  story,  were  exas- 
perating to  the  last  degree.  He  discovered  to  his 
dismay  that  the  first  impression  left  on  his  hearers 
was  that  he  himself  was  drunk,  but  the  realization 
forced  him  to  a  composure  which  won  an  eventual 
is 


226  What  a  Man  Wills 

grudging  attention.  The  officials  reiterated  that 
the  scheme  propounded  was  impracticable,  but 
a  minute  description  of  the  Bearded  One,  together 
with  the  signal  of  the  spilling  of  salt,  made  an 
undoubted  effect.  It  was  known  to  the  police 
that  such  a  signal  did  indeed  exist  among  certain 
societies,  and  its  usage  on  the  present  occasion  was 
of  evident  weight.  Lessing  was  assured  that 
immediate  steps  should  be  taken  to  ensure  the 
safety  of  the  oil  tanks.  He  had  the  satisfaction  of 
hearing  telephonic  messages  dispatched  to  various 
police  centres,  giving  instructions  for  largely 
increased  guard.  There  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done.  He  had  given  the  alarm;  had  held  to  his 
point  until  he  had  succeeded  in  securing  immediate 
help.  Sleep  was  impossible  for  him  that  night, 
but  he  would  return  to  his  rooms,  pass  the  time 
with  a  book  and  a  pipe,  until  the  fateful  hour  had 
passed.  He  passed  out  into  the  street,  and  looked 
round  for  the  taxi  which  he  had  instructed  to  wait. 
To  his  annoyance  it  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  after 
a  momentary  hesitation  it  occurred  to  him  that 
there  might  be  some  rule  forbidding  vehicles  to 
remain  before  the  entrance,  as  in  the  crowded 
thoroughfares  of  the  west,  and  that  he  might  find 
the  man  waiting  round  one  of  the  nearest  turnings. 
He  strode  on  therefore,  but  without  success, 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    227 

till  finally  he  decided  to  take  the  nearest  cut  which 
should  lead  him  to  a  Tube  station.  The  cut  was 
represented  by  a  narrow  lane,  lined  on  either  side 
with  small  shops.  Lessing  walked  sharply,  look- 
ing neither  to  right  nor  left.  The  interview  had 
left  him  nervously  exhausted,  and  he  shivered  in 
the  chill  night  air;  he  was  irritated  with  the  recal- 
citrant chauffeur,  irritated  with  himself  for  failing 
to  do  the  one  sensible  thing  under  the  circum- 
stances— turn  back  into  the  office,  and  telephone 
for  another  car.  To  walk  through  the  streets  in 
the  vicinity  of  Scotland  Yard,  a  noticeable  figure 
without  outer  coat  or  wrapping,  was  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  which  he  should  have  done  on 
such  an  occasion. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  turn  back.  A  few  more 
minutes  would  take  him  to  the  Tube  station,  or 
better  still  to  a  thoroughfare  where  he  could  pick 
up  another  car. 

By  this  time  Lessing  had  reached  the  end  of  the 
cross-road,  at  which  was  situated  an  eating-house 
of  a  rough  and  unsavoury  appearance.  As  he 
approached  the  door  it  opened,  and  a  group  of  men 
streamed  into  the  street,  talking  together  in  some 
eager  unintelligible  patois,  at  the  sound  of  which  a 
shiver  of  impending  danger  shot  through  Lessing's 
veins.  Instinctively  he  averted  his  head,  and 


228  What  a  Man  Wills 

quickened  his  pace,  but  instinct  was  a  true  prophet, 
it  projected  the  coming  event  upon  his  brain,  so 
that  he  knew  what  was  before  him,  before  the  dark, 
bearded  face  glared  into  his,  and  the  thick  voice 
hissed  the  eloquent  word  into  his  ear: 

"Traitor!" 

Lessing  did  not  stop  to  think.  He  was  one  to 
six,  and  escape  was  the  necessity  of  the  moment. 
He  took  to  his  heels,  ran  at  full  speed  until  the 
narrow  lane  was  left  behind,  and  the  lights  of  Tra- 
falgar Square  shone  around  him,  when  following 
his  first  impulse  he  leaped  into  a  taxi,  and  told  the 
man  to  drive  to  Oxford  Circus. 

He  had  behaved  like  a  fool,  and  like  a  fool  he  had 
been  trapped,  but  the  game  was  not  yet  up.  His 
identity  was  unknown,  and  by  avoiding  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  restaurant  he  could  with  ease  cut 
himself  off  from  all  likelihood  of  encountering  the 
Brethren.  Lessing's  blood  tingled  in  his  veins, 
his  whole  being  was  flooded  with  exhilaration. 
Here  was  life,  here  was  excitement,  here,  at  long 
last,  within  the  confines  of  the  grey  city  itself,  was 
the  thrill  of  pursuit!  For  they  would  be  after 
him,  following  him  no  doubt  in  one  of  the  numerous 
cars  blocking  the  roads,  with  intent  to  track  him 
to  his  lair,  but  Lessing  laughed  at  the  thought  with 
glad  youthful  confidence.  He  was  not  to  be 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    229 

caught  twice  over.  He  would  give  them  a  run — 
such  a  run  as  they  had  not  known  for  many  a  long 
day,  but  he  would  slip  them  in  the  end ! 

It  was  two  hours  later  when  Lessing  let  himself 
into  his  rooms,  but  he  entered  with  the  smiling 
face  of  the  man  who  wins;  and  in  good  truth  he 
had  reason  to  be  proud.  He  had  dodged,  he  had 
evaded,  he  had  doubled  back  on  his  own  tracks 
with  an  almost  incredible  celerity.  He  had  left 
crowded  Tube  carriages,  lost  himself  in  the  crowd 
on  the  platform,  and  jumped  back  into  the  same 
carriage,  the  last  passenger  to  enter  before  the  door 
was  closed.  He  had  changed  from  taxi  to  train, 
from  train  to  taxi,  and  once,  finding  himself  in  a 
stationary  block,  had  deposited  half  a  crown  on  the 
seat  of  his  own  car,  stepped  deftly  on  to  an  adja- 
cent "island,"  and  opening  the  door  of  an  empty 
growler,  hunched  himself  up  on  the  floor,  and  re- 
mained concealed  until  it  suited  his  convenience 
to  descend.  Oh!  he  had  been  swift,  he  had  been 
cunning;  always  he  had  acted  on  the  assumption 
that  the  pursuer  was  at  hand ;  never  for  one  mo- 
ment had  he  relaxed  guard,  or  allowed  himself  to 
slow  down.  Now  he  was  tired,  dog  tired,  but  with 
a  glorious  fatigue.  Not  for  the  world  would  he 
have  foregone  one  incident  of  that  most  thrilling 
dash! 


230  What  a  Man  Wills 

Lessing  slept,  and  woke  to  a  fine  spring  morning. 
He  rang  for  his  newspaper,  and  turned  rapidly 
over  the  pages.  Nothing  had  happened.  The 
warning  had  been  delivered  in  time;  the  grey  old 
city  was  undisturbed. 

But  that  night  when  Lessing  returned  to  his 
chambers  he  found  a  letter  awaiting  him,  addressed 
in  an  unknown  handwriting.  He  tore  it  open,  and 
read  the  few  words  which  it  contained : 

"TRAITOR, — The  doom  which  you  have  delayed, 
will  now  fall  on  your  own  head.  Do  not  think 
to  escape.  The  world  itself  would  not  be  wide 
enough  to  hide  you.  At  the  moment  when  you 
least  expect  it,  your  call  will  come " 

Lessing  stood,  staring  at  the  written  words,  and 
the  little  room  seemed  suddenly  cold  as  a  cave. 
He  had  wished,  and  his  wish  had  been  granted  to 
him.  Henceforth,  till  he  died,  danger  must  be  his 
bride! 

A  man  may  be  brave  to  the  superlative  of  brav- 
ery, yet  almost  inevitably  he  will  weaken  at  the 
consciousness  of  hidden  danger,  pursuing  him 
stealthily  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  playing 
with  him  with  ruthless  deliberation,  as  a  cat  plays 
with  a  mouse,  setting  him  free,  only  to  realize 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    231 

that  his  torture  has  been  in  vain,  and  the  day  of 
reckoning  is  still  to  come. 

For  the  first  few  days  after  his  receipt  of  the 
fateful  letter,  Lessing  went  about  his  work  with  a 
grim,  but  not  altogether  unpleasant,  excitement. 
He  realized  once  for  all  that  it  was  hopeless  to  try 
to  hide  himself  from  the  Brethren,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  sell  his  life  dearly.  He  carried  a  police- 
man's whistle,  and  a  walking-stick  with  a  large  and 
roughly-cut  head,  which  on  occasion  could  be  a 
formidable  weapon.  The  question  of  a  revolver 
had  been  dismissed  after  the  shortest  hesitation, 
seeing  that  Lessing' s  inexperience  with  firearms 
made  such  a  possession  rather  an  extra  danger  than 
a  protection.  He  put  his  affairs  in  order,  and,  like 
every  other  man  under  sentence  of  death,  woke  to 
a  smarting  consciousness  of  the  sweetness  of  life. 
Life  and — Delia !  Delia  of  the  rose  bloom  and  the 
misty  eyes.  Delia,  who  on  occasion  could  be  so 
maddeningly,  tantalizingly  alive !  Lessing  did  not 
realize  his  own  changed  looks,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
the  cruellest  contrariety  of  fate  that  Delia  should 
show  herself  at  her  sweetest  and  most  womanly 
at  this  moment  when  he  knew  himself  separated 
from  her  by  the  most  impenetrable  of  barriers. 

A  fortnight  of  incessant,  imminent  anxiety 
passed  slowly  by ;  then  came  a  night  when,  taking 


232  What  a  Man  Wills 

his  way  to  the  corner  house  after  dinner,  Lessing 
experienced  his  first  tangible  alarm.  The  square 
was  empty  of  pedestrians;  he  was  walking  on  the 
farther  side,  close  to  the  tall  shuttered  houses, 
when  through  the  shrubs  behind  the  railing  of  the 
centre  enclosure,  the  lamplight  showed  a  glimpse 
of  a  white  face  peering  towards  him.  The  next 
second  it  had  disappeared,  but  even  as  he  walked 
he  had  a  conviction  that  a  crouching  figure  kept 
pace  behind  that  leafy  -  screen.  He  hurried  his 
steps,  the  figure  kept  pace;  he  could  hear  the 
rustle  of  the  boughs  as  it  passed,  leaping  across  the 
intervening  spaces  with  swift,  ape-like  bounds. 
Presently,  when  it  reached  that  thick  clump  of 
trees,  it  would  leap  ahead,  crouch,  and  take  aim. 
Lessing  acted  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  A 
doctor's  plate  shone  bright  on  a  doorway — he 
pealed  the  electric  bell,  and  a  moment  later  stood 
safe  within  the  entrance  hall. 

The  doctor  found  his  patient  wanting  in  nervous 
force,  prescribed  a  tonic,  and  rose  to  intimate  that 
the  interview  was  over ;  then,  as  the  patient  failed 
to  take  the  hint,  explained  that  he  himself  was 
obliged  to  go  out  at  once.  His  opinion  of  the  grav. 
ity  of  the  case  was  increased  when  the  patient  first 
expressed  a  wish  to  accompany  him  on  his  walk, 
and  then  bade  him  good  night  at  the  first  corner! 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger     233 

And  that  night  Delia  was  kinder  than  ever  and 
the  savour  of  life  more  alluringly  sweet ! 

During  the  days  that  followed  Lessing  developed 
a  horror  of  solitude.  The  old  evenings  with  a  pipe 
and  a  book  became  abhorrent,  and  on  the  nights 
when  he  did  not  go  to  the  corner  house,  he  either 
dined  in  town  or  invited  a  friend  to  share  his  home 
repast.  It  was  therefore  with  real  relief  that  one 
Saturday  morning  he  received  a  telegraphic  in- 
vitation from  a  leisured  friend  who  diversified  a 
roving  existence  by  flying  visits  to  his  country 
home.  The  telegram  showed  the  expansiveness  of 
the  man  of  means,  and  ran  as  follows : 

"Returning  to  Moat  this  afternoon.  Try  to 
join  me  for  a  week-end.  Car  will  meet  four- thirty 
on  chance. — BLAKENEY.  " 

Jt  was  impossible  to  reply,  since  Blakeney  had 
dispatched  his  wire  from  Crewe,  and  was  presuma- 
bly already  travelling  southwards.  The  form  of  the 
message  showed  that  no  answer  was  expected,  but 
Lessing  had  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  his 
own  acceptance.  He  was  thankful  for  the  chance 
of  leaving  London  behind,  and  spending  the  next 
two  days  in  Blakeney's  cheerful  society.  He  sent 
a  boy  home  to  get  his  bag,  and  carry  it  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  when  the  hour  for  departure  approached, 


234  What  a  Man  Wills 

followed  by  a  long  and  devious  route,  coming  on 
the  platform  just  in  time  to  jump  into  a  moving 
carriage.  By  this  time  he  retained  little  hope  of 
avoiding  the  espionage  of  the  Brethren,  but  as  his 
life  grew  more  precious  so  did  his  precautions 
increase,  and  his  determination  to  fight  to  the  last. 
The  smoking  carriage  contained  the  usual  con- 
tingent of  comfortable  middle-aged  citizens,  and 
the  hour's  journey  passed  without  incident.  It 
was  a  stopping  train,  and  the  passengers  descended 
in  great  numbers  at  the  nearer  suburbs,  and  in 
scattered  units  once  the  hour's  limit  had  passed. 
Lessing  counted  six  men  besides  himself  who  de- 
scended at  Evershaw,  one  old,  three  middle-aged, 
a  young  man  in  seedy  brown  overcoat,  and  a  work- 
man carrying  a  bag  of  tools.  They  looked  one  and 
all  reassuringly  English  and '  commonplace,  and 
Lessing  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  For  once  he  had 
really  escaped  the  scent !  He  hurried  through  the 
booking  office,  to  find  himself  confronted  by  the 
collection  of  somewhat  broken-down  looking  gigs 
and  pony  carts  to  be  seen  at  most  country  stations. 
There  was  no  sign  of  Lessing' s  luxurious  car,  only  a 
powerful-looking  mud-bespattered  taxi,  beside 
which  stood  a  man  in  leather  gaiters  and  a  driving- 
coat.  He  touched  his  cap  as  Lessing  approached, 
saying  in  an  interrogative  tone: 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger     235 

"Beg  pardon,  sir — Mr.  Lessing?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  have  instructions  to  meet  you,  sir.  From  the 
Moat." 

"Right,"  said  Lessing,  and  handed  over  his 
bag.  He  realized  at  once  that  Blakeney  had  pro- 
bably wired  for  his  own  car  to  meet  him  some 
distance  down  the  line;  and  he  seated  himself  in 
the  capacious  tonneau  of  the  taxi  with  an  agree- 
able rising  of  spirits.  The  little  station  was  gay 
with  spring  flowers,  and  the  scent  of  wallflowers 
floated  refreshingly  on  the  cool  clean  breeze. 
Lessing  stretched  his  tired  limbs,  and  drew  a  deep, 
grateful  breath.  He  was  just  in  the  mood  for  a 
spin  through  country  lanes,  and  for  once  was 
tempted  to  wish  that  the  Moat  was  situated  at  a 
greater  distance  from  the  station.  Then  in  a 
moment  his  mood  changed,  and  a  cloud  of  anxiety 
descended.  Already  the  car  had  made  its  first 
movement  forward,  when  the  man  with  the  brown 
coat  sprang  to  the  front,  and  leaped  to  the  seat 
beside  the  chauffeur.  Scrambling,  clutching,  he 
righted  himself,  steadied  his  hat  on  his  head,  and 
pressed  a  tentative  touch  on  a  side  pocket,  and  all 
the  time  the  driver  vouchsafed  not  one  glance,  but 
devoted  himself  to  his  wheel,  as  quietly  as  if  it 
were  an  everyday  occurrence  to  be  boarded  at  the 


236  What  a  Man  Wills 

last  moment  by  an  uninvited  "fare."  There  was 
something  in  that  stolidity  which  chilled  the  blood 
in  Lessing's  veins,  for  it  seemed  to  infer  that  the 
incident  was  expected;  that  the  man  in  the  brown 
coat  had  travelled  down  from  town  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  occupy  that  special  seat. 

For  the  next  few  minutes  Lessing  alternated  be- 
tween fear  and  composure.  In  the  latter  condition 
he  told  himself  that  it  was  a  usual  occurrence  for  a 
country  driver  to  give  a  "  lift "  to  a  friend,  and  that 
such  an  action  was  tacitly  sanctioned  by  his  pa- 
trons. Probably  the  man  in  the  brown  coat  was 
so  accustomed  to  avail  himself  of  his  friend's 
hospitality,  that  to  both  the  action  had  become 
automatic.  The  more  Lessing  dwelt  on  this  ex- 
planation, the  more  satisfactory  did  it  appear;  it 
supported  him  to  the  end  of  the  straggling  village, 
and  only  lost  its  power  when  the  car  failed  to  turn 
up  the  lane  leading  to  the  Moat.  He  leaned  forward, 
tapped  at  the  dividing  glass,  and  called  through 
the  tube,  but  neither  man  moved  the  fraction  of 
an  inch.  He  called  again,  more  loudly  than 
before,  and  as  if  answering  a  signal,  the  car  leaped 
forward,  leaped  again,  and  with  ever-mounting 
speed  dashed  down  the  empty  lane. 

Then  the  truth  could  no  longer  be  disguised. 
These  men  were  in  league  against  him;  they  had 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    237 

laid  a  trap,  and  he  had  walked  into  it  with  credu- 
lous ease.  The  telegram  had  been  a  fraud,  sent 
with  no  other  purpose  than  to  lure  him  from  town, 
into  the  solitude  of  these  lonely  lanes.  The 
Brethren's  knowledge  of  Blakeney  and  his  ways 
seemed  at  first  an  incredible  feat,  but  a  moment's 
consideration  went  far  to  remove  the  mystery. 
Blakeney  had  passed  through  town  only  a  week 
before,  and  had  dined  with  Lessing  at  his  club. 
Nothing  more  easy  than  to  discover  his  name  from 
the  porter,  and  to  follow  up  the  scent. 

At  that  moment  Lessing  would  have  given 
much  for  the  feel  of  a  revolver  in  his  coat  pocket. 
Given  such  a  weapon  he  might  have  "held  up" 
the  two  men  on  the  front  seat,  and  forced  them 
to  obey  his  orders;  as  it  was,  he  was  powerless  as 
a  child.  For  another  ten  minutes  the  car  pursued 
its  headlong  rush;  the  two  men  sitting  silent, 
immovable,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left;  the 
man  inside  crouched  forward  in  an  attitude  of 
defence.  And  once  again  Lessing  was  conscious 
of  that  tingling  in  his  veins  which  was  rather 
exhilaration  than  dread.  Face  to  face  with  danger 
he  had  no  lack  of  courage,  rather  did  every  faculty 
of  his  being  rouse  itself  to  an  added  fullness  of  life. 
The  tangible  had  no  terror,  it  was  the  passive 
waiting  which  played  havoc  with  his  nerves. 


238  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  car  was  still  racing  forward,  plunging  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  heart  of  the  country.  Lessing 
studied  the  road  on  either  side,  searching  for  land- 
marks which  might  be  registered  for  future  use. 
He  had  by  now  concluded  that  he  was  being  con- 
veyed to  some  stronghold  of  the  Brethren  where  he 
would  meet  the  fate  allotted  to  him  for  his  betrayal, 
and  he  reflected  that  it  would  be  days  if  not  weeks 
before  his  disappearance  would  attract  serious 
attention.  By  way  of  precaution  he  had  burnt 
Blakeney's  telegram  as  soon  as  read;  while  the 
boy  who  carried  his  bag  to  the  station  had  departed 
immediately  after  his  own  arrival  and  could  give 
no  clue  as  to  his  destination.  To-night  might  see 
the  close  of  his  own  life,  but  his  friends  would 
pursue  the  even  tenor  of  their  way  without  a  fear 
for  his  welfare.  Even  Delia.  .  .  .  With  the 
thought  of  Delia  came  a  knife-like  pang;  a 
determination  to  strain  every  nerve  and  faculty 
to  outwit  his  enemies. 

Another  five  minutes,  and  he  became  aware 
that  the  car  was  slacking  speed,  that  the  men 
on  the  front  seat  were  looking  ahead,  as  though 
on  the  watch  for  an  expected  signal.  Pre- 
sumably it  came,  for  with  skilful  turns  of  the 
wheel  the  chauffeur  steered  the  car  down  a  nar- 
row lane,  and,  with  a  second  lurching  curve, 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    239 

into  a  gateway  which  stood  half-way  down  its 
length. 

So  far  the  manipulation  of  the  car  had  borne 
testimony  to  the  skill  of  the  chauffeur,  but  two 
sharp  turnings  so  quickly  succeeding  each  other 
were  a  severe  test,  and  terminated  in  a  momentary 
skid  over  a  grassy  bank,  during  which  the  car 
tilted  violently  to  the  side. 

The  swing  was  severe  enough  to  throw  Lessing 
sideways  on  the  seat,  and  before  he  had  time  to 
right  himself,  the  two  men  had  leaped  off  the  box, 
the  one  to  the  right  and  the  other  to  the  left,  and 
had  appeared  simultaneously  at  either  door. 
There  was  nothing  precisely  threatening  in  their 
demeanour,  but  they  had  the  air  of  men  who  knew 
their  duty,  and  were  prepared  to  do  it.  The 
chauffeur  "had  an  appearance  of  bull-dog  strength, 
but  little  sign  of  intelligence.  The  man  in  the 
brown  coat  had  a  narrow,  hatchet-like  face,  with 
keen,  alert  eyes.  The  hand  which  lay  on  the  door 
of  the  car  was  white  and  well  shaped.  One  glance 
at  him  showed  that  he  was  the  real  master  of  the 
situation.  Lessing  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
with  an  air  of  haughty  displeasure. 

"May  I  inquire  the  explanation  of  this  extra- 
ordinary behaviour!  I  gave  instructions  to  be 
driven  to  the  Moat. " 


240  What  a  Man  Wills 

"  Our  instructions  were  to  bring  you  here.  You 
are  expected.  I  must  ask  you  to  get  out,  and 
come  up  to  the  house." 

It  was  the  man  in  the  brown  coat  who  spoke. 
He  came  a  step  nearer  as  he  spoke,  blocking  the 
doorway ;  the  chauffeur  held  open  the  farther  door, 
his  great  bulk  outlined  against  the  green  of  the 
trees.  It  seemed  to  Lessing  that  for  the  moment 
his  best  policy  was  to  obey,  since,  if  it  came  to  a 
fight,  he  preferred  the  open  to  his  present  cramped 
position.  He  alighted  then  without  demur,  and, 
stood  on  the  path  stretching  himself,  and  looking 
around  with  an  air  of  assurement  which  he  was  far 
from  feeling.  He  saw  a  garden  which  even  in  its 
spring  freshness  looked  desolate  and  neglected,  and, 
some  forty  yards  from  the  gate,  a  low  house  of 
grey  stone,  thickly  covered  with  creepers,  the 
branches  of  which  had  been  allowed  to  drape  the 
windows  so  heavily  that  in  many  cases  the  glass 
was  almost  entirely  concealed.  Lessing  looked  at 
it  and  felt  a  creeping  of  the  blood.  There  was  only 
one  word  which  could  fitly  describe  the  appearance 
of  that  house,  and  it  was  a  word  of  which  he  did 
not  care  to  think.  It  was  a  dead  house. 

Lessing  had  been  under  the  impression  that 
while  he  had  been  studying  his  surroundings  he  had 
been  standing  still,  but  it  now  appeared  that 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    241 

unconsciously  to  himself,  and  impelled  by  the 
movements  of  the  men  on  either  side,  he  had  been 
slowly  approaching  nearer  and  nearer  the  open 
door  of  the  windowless  house.  Instantly  he  halted 
and  put  a  sharp  inquiry: 

"What  is  this  house?  Who  is  it  that  is  'expect- 
ing' me,  as  you  say?" 

"You  will  recognize  him  when  you  meet,"  said 
the  man  in  brown,  and  pursing  his  lips  gave  a  soft, 
prolonged  whistle,  repeated  three  times  over,  with 
a  perceptible  pause  between  each.  He  looked 
towards  the  house  meantime,  and  in  imagination 
Lessing  filled  the  blank  space  of  the  doorway  with 
a  dreaded  figure,  the  figure  of  a  man  with  black 
hair  turning  to  grey,  a  shaggy  beard,  and  large 
prominent  teeth.  He  had  need  of  all  his  courage 
at  that  moment,  but  he  made  no  resistance  as  the 
men  by  his  side  steadily  guided  him  forward;  for 
just  as  a  short  time  before  he  had  preferred  to 
fight  in  the  open,  now  he  was  possessed  with  a 
desire  to  find  himself  in  a  room  where  he  might 
take  his  stand  against  the  wall,  and  so  force  his 
enemies  to  a  frontal  attack. 

The  three  men  entered  a  narrow,  absolutely  bare 
hallway,  from  which  an  uncarpeted  staircase  rose 
sharply  to  the  left.  From  the  first  glance  around, 
and  even  more  from  the  dank  and  mouldy  atmos- 

16 


242  What  a  Man  Wills 

phere,  Lessing  divined  that  the  house  had  long  been 
unoccupied,  and  that  a  deed  of  violence  committed 
therein  might  remain  undiscovered  for  an  indefi- 
nite period.  The  conclusion  did  not  help  to  raise 
his  spirits  as  he  entered  a  long  narrow  room  facing 
the  back  of  the  house,  his  companions  meantime 
pressing  hard  on  his  wake. 

The  room  was  as  empty  as  the  hall ;  the  man  in 
the  brown  coat  walked  quickly  to  the  nearer  of  the 
two  windows,  gave  a  searching  glance  around,  then 
turned  to  the  chauffeur  with  a  significant  shake  of 
the  head.  There  followed  a  moment's  pause,  as 
though  both  men  were  puzzled  by  the  absence  of 
someone  confidently  expected.  Then  the  man 
with  the  brown  coat  turned  once  more  to  Lessing. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  wait  for  us  here  for  a  few 
minutes, "  he  said  courteously.  "We  will  not  keep 
you  longer  than  is  necessary.  I  am  sorry  that  I 
cannot  offer  you  a  chair.  This  house  is,  sis  you  see, 
unfurnished. " 

Lessing  did  not  condescend  to  reply.  He  hailed 
the  departure  of  the  two  men  as  giving  him  an 
opportunity  to  examine  his  surroundings  and  find 
a  possible  way  of  escape.  The  room  was  on  the 
ground  floor,  the  windows  were  unbarred,  surely 
then  it  would  be  easy. 

The  next  moment  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face, 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    243 

as  his  ears  caught  the  turn  of  a  rusty  key,  followed 
by  the  drawing  of  a  bolt,  and  hurrying  across  the 
floor  he  found  that  the  door  leading  into  the  pas- 
sage had  been  doubly  secured.  The  two  men  were 
determined  to  keep  him  a  prisoner  while  they 
waited  for  the  appearance  of  one  who  was  evidently 
their  chief;  he  could  hear  their  footsteps  ascending 
the  stairs,  tramping  over  the  bare  floors  above ;  once 
and  again  the  sound  of  the  long  thrice-repeated 
whistle  came  to  his  ears,  but  to  his  relief  there  came 
no  answer  to  the  signal. 

Lessing  stood  with  his  ears  to  the  chink  of  the 
door  listening  intently.  Presently  he  heard  the  two 
men  descend  to  the  hall,  linger  for  a  minute  as  if 
undecided,  then  pass  out  of  the  front  door.  An- 
other minute  and  a  new  sound  broke  the  stillness; 
he  listened  acutely,  and  had  little  difficulty  in 
divining  its  meaning;  the  men  were  endeavouring 
to  move  the  car  out  of  the  rut,  so  that  at  any 
moment  it  might  be  ready  to  bear  them  away. 

Instantly  Lessing  darted  to  the  nearer  of  the 
two  windows,  and  looking  out  experienced  an 
unwelcome  surprise.  The  house  was  evidently 
built  on  shelving  ground,  for  though  the  room  in 
which  he  stood  was  level  with  the  entrance,  it  was 
yet  raised  by  a  good  twenty  feet  from  the  ground 
at  the  back.  Now  twenty  feet  is  not  a  great  depth, 


244  What  a  Man  Wills 

but  it  is  too  far  for  a  man  to  drop  without  risk  of 
at  least  spraining  an  ankle,  and  thereby  leaving 
himself  helpless  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  espe- 
cially when,  as  was  the  case  in  this  instance,  the 
ground  is  paved  with  rough,  uneven  flags.  Lessing 
drew  back  in  disgust,  and  darted  to  the  window  on 
the  farther  end  of  the  room.  Here,  if  anything,  the 
drop  was  greater,  but  the  position  was  improved, 
inasmuch  as  a  tangle  of  grass  took  the  place  of  the 
jagged  flags.  The  window  was  of  the  old-fashioned 
casement  description,  and  to  prise  open  the  rusty 
latch  was  no  light  task  even  for  strong  fingers, 
but  it  was  done  at  last,  and  Lessing  hung  forward, 
listening  breathlessly  to  the  sounds  from  the  front 
of  the  house.  The  car  was  evidently  still  refusing 
to  budge ;  he  could  hear  the  voice  of  the  chauffeur 
instructing  the  man  in  the  brown  coat  as  to  his 
share  in  the  work,  and  the  thud  of  the  engine  as 
once  and  again  it  strained  to  the  task. 

Now  was  his  time,  while  the  two  men  were 
engaged;  while  as  yet  the  third  man  had  not 
appeared!  Lessing  hung  out  of  the  window,  his 
eyes  sweeping  the  wall  to  right  and  left.  He  had 
a  strong  head,  and  given  so  much  as  a  drain  pipe 
would  have  no  hesitation  in  essaying  the  descent, 
but  the  mass  of  ivy  hid  everything  from  view. 
Lessing  hoisted  himself  on  the  window-sill,  and 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    245 

creeping  first  to  one  side  and  then  the  other, 
groped  among  the  leaves.  He  found  no  pipe,  but 
a  moment's  searching  discovered  what  was  quite 
as  useful  for  his  purpose,  a  central  branch  of  the 
ivy  itself,  thick  as  a  man's  fist,  strong  enough  to 
support  a  dozen  climbers.  Lessing  gave  himself 
no  time  to  think,  but  lowered  himself  from  the  sill, 
grasped  the  branch  in  both  hands,  and  began  his 
descent.  It  was  not  as  easy  as  he  had  expected, 
for  the  branch  scalloped  along  the  walls,  in  a 
somewhat  disconcerting  manner,  but  given  a 
steady  head,  and  a  body  in  reasonable  training, 
there  were  no  serious  difficulties  to  encounter,  and 
a  point  was  soon  reached  when  he  could  relax  his 
hold,  and  drop  softly  to  the  ground. 

So  far  all  had  gone  with  almost  incredible  ease, 
but  Lessing  was  aware  that  he  was  not  yet  out  of 
the  wood.  At  any  moment  his  escape  might  be 
discovered,  and  his  pursuers  would  have  a  double 
advantage  in  their  possession  of  the  car  and  their 
knowledge  of  the  country  itself.  It  was  the  work 
of  a  few  minutes  to  dart  down  the  overgrown  path, 
scale  the  wall  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  drop 
upon  the  grass  below,  but  the  next  step  was  more 
difficult  to  decide.  Looking  around  him  he  per- 
ceived a  white  roadway  curling  like  a  ribbon  round 
a  sweep  of  meadow  land,  and  realized  how  easily 


246  What  a  Man  Wills 

his  escape  might  be  cut  off.  It  flashed  into  his 
mind  that  his  best  chance  was  to  lie  low  until  his 
pursuers  had  started  on  their  chase,  and  even  as 
the  thought  passed  through  his  brain,  his  eye  fell 
on  a  straggling  growth  of  barberry  against  the 
outer  side  of  the  wall  he  had  just  scaled.  The 
bushes  were  small  and  by  no  means  thick,  so  that 
at  first  sight  they  offered  no  promise  of  shelter, 
but  on  further  examination  Lessing  discovered  that 
the  ground  between  them  and  the  wall  was  hol- 
lowed to  the  depth  of  a  foot  or  more,  and  covered 
with  a  mass  of  tall  grasses.  Here,  then,  was  an 
ideal  hiding-place,  where  he  could  lie  low  and  know 
all  that  was  happening  around. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Lessing  laid 
himself  down  in  the  hollow,  pressing  back  the 
grasses  that  he  might  creep  close  to  the  shelter  of 
the  wall,  then  allowing  them  to  spring  back  to 
their  original  position.  His  tweed  suit  was  of  a 
nondescript  tint,  the  shade  least  likely  to  catch 
the  eye,  but  for  greater  safety  he  picked  handfuls 
of  leaves  and  grass,  and  scattered  them  over 
his  clothes,  then  lying  flat  with  face  hidden  on  his 
folded  arms,  he  awaited  the  discovery  of  his 
escape. 

He  had  time  to  grow  cramped  and  chill  before 
the  sound  of  loud  raised  voices  and  the  heavy 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    247 

tramp  of  feet  over  wooden  floors  warned  him  that 
the  search  had  begun.  Almost  immediately  after- 
wards someone  came  racing  down  the  garden  path, 
circled  round  once  and  again,  and  finally  clambered 
to  the  top  of  the  wall,  to  obtain  a  view  over  the  out- 
lying country.  Lessing  knew  by  the  distinctness 
of  the  sound  that  the  ascent  had  been  made  at  but 
a  short  distance  from  where  he  lay,  and  the  know- 
ledge sent  a  chill  through  his  blood.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  him  that  his  hiding-place  could  be 
viewed  from  above,  and  he  waited  in  the  keenest 
suspense,  prepared  to  take  to  his  feet  and  make  a 
dash  for  it,  at  the  first  hint  of  discovery.  But  the 
man  on  the  wall  made  no  such  sign.  He  breathed 
in  short,  gasping  breaths,  as  a  man  would  breathe 
under  stress  of  agitation,  and  between  his  breaths 
once  and  again  he  sent  out  the  old  whistling 
summons,  then  scrambling,  clutching,  he  fell  back 
into  the  garden,  and  again  raced  to  and  fro  among 
the  curving  paths. 

For  the  next  ten  minutes  the  sounds  of  the 
search  continued  to  reach  Lessing's  ears,  then  came 
the  welcome  thudding  of  the  engine,  as  the  car 
swept  out  of  the  gate,  showing  that  the  men  had 
abandoned  the  search  of  the  premises.  Another 
ten  minutes,  and  the  thudding  sounded  again,  but 
from  another  direction,  and  peering  cautiously 


248  What  a  Man  Wills 

between  the  branches,  Lessing  could  watch  the 
car  approach  down  the  long  curve  of  the  road 
encircling  the  meadows.  It  was  running  slowly 
now,  its  occupants  no  doubt  engaged  in  searching 
the  flat  stretch  of  land,  making  sure  of  one  direc- 
tion after  another  in  which  their  prisoner  could  not 
have  escaped.  Presently  it  turned  and  slowly 
traversed  the  same  space,  before  it  finally  returned 
to  the  high  road  and  disappeared  from  sight. 

The  dusk  had  fallen  before  Lessing  crept 
out  of  his  hiding-place,  and  dragged  his  stiffened 
limbs  across  the  meadows.  He  had  determined 
to  avoid  the  highways,  and  so  wandered  on  without 
any  idea  of  the  direction  in  which  he  was  going, 
but  after  half  an  hour's  walking,  to  his  joy  and 
relief  he  struck  a  railway  line,  and  following  it 
soon  arrived  at  a  country  station. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night  Lessing  let  himself 
into  his  rooms,  dusty,  dirty,  incredibly  fatigued, 
the  poorer  by  the  loss  of  a  bag  containing  two 
quite  admirable  suits  of  clothes,  but  full  of  thank- 
fulness and  relief. 

For  once  at  least  he  had  beaten  the  Brethren 
on  their  own  ground! 

"It's  no  good  pretending.  It's  no  good  trying 
to  deceive  me.  You  are  changed!"  Delia  de- 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger     249 

clared,  nodding  her  pretty  head  with  solemn  em- 
phasis. "You  are  changing  more  and  more  every 
single  day.  And  it  doesn't  suit  you.  Hollows  in 
the  cheeks!  What  business  has  a  man  of  thirty 
with  hollows  in  his  cheeks?  And  a  different  ex- 
pression in  your  eyes.  Worried,  absent,  scared. 
Valentine  Lessing, — what  have  you  been  and  gone 
and  done?" 

Lessing  was  seated  once  more  in  the  delightfully 
homely  room  at  the  corner  house,  enjoying  the 
rare  treat  of  a  tete-ci-tete  with  Delia.  The  men  of 
the  family  were  out,  and  two  minutes  before  the 
maid  had  announced  "Mrs.  Wright  from  the  Dis- 
trict, "  and  "Could  the  mistress  possibly  see  her?" 
whereupon  Mrs.  Gordon  had  sighed,  and  said: 
"He  is  out  of  work  again,  and  she  is  such  a  talker! 
Delia,  dear,^will  you  go?  Give  her  half-a-crown, 
and  say  I'm  tired. "  But  Delia,  as  a  rule  the  most 
helpful  of  daughters,  resolutely  refused. 

"No,  mother;  it's  your  duty.  The  vicar  says 
you  give  far  too  much.  It's  pandering,  and  makes 
it  hard  for  the  other  visitors.  Besides,  I'd  never 
get  rid  of  her!  Be  a  good,  brave  lady,  and  do 
your  duty." 

So  Mrs.  Gordon  had  departed,  when  Delia 
immediately  turned  to  Lessing,  and  announced 
triumphantly: 


250  What  a  Man  Wills 

"She  won't  be  back  for  a  good  half -hour!  I've 
been  longing  for  a  chance  of  talking  to  you  alone, " 
and  proceeded  to  cross-question  as  before  stated. 
"Yes,  you  are  scared."  Delia  repeated.  "When 
anyone  enters  the  room  suddenly  you  jump  and 
look  round  as  if  you  expected  to  see  a  policeman 
and  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  It  makes  me  quite 
nervous  even  to  watch  you.  And,"  her  voice 
sank  to  a  deeper  note,  "you  look  ill,  Val!  What 
is  it?" 

Lessing  bent  forward  in  his  chair,  his  hands 
clasped  loosely  together  between  his  knees;  there 
was  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  brought  the  colour 
surging  into  Delia's  cheeks. 

"  I  can  tell  you  honestly,  Delia,  that  I  have  done 
nothing  to  make  me  fear  a  policeman  or  handcuffs, 
but — I  am  worried!"  For  a  passing  moment  he 
struggled  with  the  temptation  to  confess  the 
truth,  but  this  point  had  been  mentally  argued 
time  and  again,  always  with  the  same  conclusion. 
To  confide  his  story  would  be  to  include  his 
confidante  in  his  own  danger,  since  it  was  hardly 
possible  that  he  would  not  feel  called  upon  to  take 
active  steps  against  the  Brethren.  "I  can't  tell 
you  the  why  and  wherefore,  I  wish  I  could,  but  I 
can  assure  you  that  I  have  no  cause  to  be 
ashamed." 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    251 

"Oh,  bother  ashamed!"  cried  Delia  hotly. 
"Why  are  you  scared?  Has  anyone  been — er — 
nasty  to  you,  Val?  A  man  in  the  office — jealous 
of  you  because  you  have  got  on  so  well.  Forged 
a  cheque  and  pretended  it  was  you,  or  put  money 
in  your  drawer  like  they  do  in  books,  you  know, 
when  they  have  a  grudge?  Is  it  something  like 
that,  and  you  are  afraid  in  case  they  suspect  you 
and  send  you  away?" 

The  words  were  so  deliciously  naive  and  girlish 
that  Lessing  was  obliged  to  laugh;  they  were  also 
so  transparently  eloquent  of  the  speaker's  interest 
and  concern  for  himself  that  a  great  pang  rent  his 
heart  at  the  vision  of  life  as  it  might  be.  Life 
with  Delia — with  Delia's  children,  a  happy,  breezy, 
family  life,  repeating  the  atmosphere  of  the  corner 
house  in  some  flowery  suburban  cottage.  Oh,  how 
good  it  seemed,  how  full  and  satisfying!  What  a 
joy  to  a  tired  man  to  have  that  haven  to  which  to 
return  at  the  close  of  his  day's  work.  Time  had 
been  when  he  had  scoffed  at  the  smug  security  of 
suburban  life;  had  pitied  the  lot  of  the  man  who 
spent  his  evenings  playing  with  his  children  and 
mowing  a  miniature  lawn,  but  in  the  light  of  the 
last  month's  experience,  he  asked  nothing  better 
of  fate  than  to  find  himself  in  a  precisely  similar 
position. 


252  What  a  Man  Wills 

"No,  Delia,  no!"  he  cried  ardently,  "there  is 
no  business  trouble.  It's — er — something  outside. 
Don't  speak  of  it,  please.  I  want  to  tell  you,  and 
I  ought  not.  It's  dear  and  sweet  of  you  to  care. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  much  it  has  meant  to  me  the 
last  few  weeks,  just  to  be  able " 

Delia  interrupted  hurriedly,  after  the  manner  of 
young  women  who  ardently  long  to  hear  a  declara- 
tion of  love,  yet  take  fright  at  the  first  symptom  of 
its  approach. 

"Anyway,"  she  said  decisively,  "you  have  got 
to  come  to  the  cottage  over  Whitsuntide.  I  insist 
upon  it,  so  it's  no  use  trying  to  escape.  Three 
whole  days  in  the  country  will  steady  your  nerves. 
It's  not  at  all  comme  il  faut  for  a  director  to  have 
jumpy  nerves.  If  I  were  a  shareholder  I'd  sell  out 
at  once.  You  will  travel  down  with  us  on  Friday 
afternoon,  and  stay  as  long  as  you  can  the  next 
week.  Understand  ? ' ' 

Lessing  thankfully  accepted  the  invitation, 
which  was  duly  confirmed  by  Mrs.  Gordon  upon 
her  return  to  the  sitting-room,  and  a  week  later 
he  arrived  at  the  week-end  cottage,  after  a  safe 
and  comfortable  journey  in  the  company  of  his 
cheerful  friends. 

During  that  week  only  one  disquieting  incident 
had  happened,  but  that  was  ominous  enough.  A 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    253 

typed  envelope  lying  among  other  letters  on  the 
breakfast-table  was  left  carelessly  until  the  others 
had  been  read  and  digested,  and  then  torn  open 
with  the  scant  courtesy  shown  to  notes  of  the  cir- 
cular type;  but  the  folded  slip  bore  no  printed 
words,  and  as  Lessing  jerked  it  apart  there  floated 
downward  on  to  the  carpet  a  thin  powdery  stream, 
at  sight  of  which  the  blood  mounted  in  his  face. 
Moistening  one  finger,  he  bent  and  applied  the 
tip  to  the  scattered  grains,  then  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 
Salt!  There  was  no  mistaking  the  sharp  clean 
savour,  and  on  a  corner  of  the  paper  he  beheld  the 
rough  amateur  drawing  of  a  knife. 

The  Brethren  had  sent  him  a  reminder  that  they 
were  still  waiting  for  their  revenge ! 

That  year  Whitsuntide  fell  in  a  spell  of  warm  and 
settled  weather,  and  a  more  charming  retreat  than 
the  Gordons'  week-end  cottage  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find.  The  house  was  a  type  of  simple  comfort, 
the  garden  a  delicious  riot  of  colour  and  fragrance. 
None  of  the  Gordons  knew  anything  about  the 
science  of  gardening,  but  they  considered  it  "fun" 
to  attend  to  their  own  garden,  sent  wholesale 
orders  to  advertising  seedsmen,  and  begged  shame- 
lessly from  gardening  friends.  The  friends  re- 
sponded with  sacks  of  mysterious-looking  roots 
which  the  Gordons  proceeded  to  plump  indiscrim- 


254  What  a  Man  Wills 

inately  into  the  first  vacant  space  which  came 
handy.  Everything  flourished,  for  the  soil 
was  new  and  rich,  and  the  sun  blazed  upon  it 
from  morning  till  night;  and  the  result  was  as 
delightful  as  it  was  unorthodox. 

After  a  day  spent  in  the  cottage,  Lessing  began 
to  feel  that  the  happenings  of  the  last  weeks  must 
surely  be  the  creation  of  his  own  brain.  The 
mental  atmosphere  by  which  he  was  surrounded 
was  so  kindly  and  wholesome,  so  pre-eminently 
sane,  that,  in  contrast,  the  wild  deeds  of  the 
Brethren  seemed  more  the  vagaries  of  a  dream  than 
cold  actual  fact.  Most  thankfully  he  accepted  the 
peaceful  breathing  space,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  the  incident  of  the  spilling  of  the  salt  went 
about  his  way  free  from  apprehension.  It  seemed 
to  him  in  the  last  degree  unlikely  that  the  Brethren 
would  choose  a  time  when  he  was  in  close  contact 
with  friends  for  the  execution  of  their  revenge. 

Lessing  had  made  a  compact  with  himself  that 
under  no  circumstances  would  he  speak  of  love  to 
Delia  Gordon.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  loved 
her  for  years,  he  realized  that  under  his  present  cir- 
cumstances it  would  be  a  despicable  act  to  seek  to 
bind  her  in  any  way,  but,  with  the  extraordinary 
logic  practised  by  men  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  he 
believed  that  so  long  as  he  refrained  from  an  actual 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    255 

declaration  he  was  acting  as  an  honourable  man. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  in  the  event  of  his 
own  sudden  death  a  woman  who  loved  him  would 
find  her  best  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  her 
love  had  been  returned ! 

But  the  days  passed  pleasantly.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gordon  were  the  kindest  of  hosts,  Terence  showed 
himself  at  his  best,  and  Delia,  in  her  light  dresses 
and  flower- wreathed  hats,  was  the  most  tantaliz- 
ingly  pretty  creature  in  the  world.  Lessing  found 
it  very  difficult  to  keep  his  resolve  as  he  sat  by  her 
side  in  a  summer-house  situated  at  a  discreet 
distance  from  the  house,  and  screened  by  the 
thick  belt  of  trees  which  formed  the  end  of  the 
shrubbery;  and,  if  th«  truth  is  to  be  told,  Delia 
intended  him  to  find  it  difficult,  and  made  special 
play  with  her  eyelashes  to  that  effect.  Val  was 
looking  infinitely  better,  but  when  he  returned  to 
town  that  tiresome  "worry"  would  begin  again, 
and  she  wanted,  as  any  nice,  right-minded  girl 
would  have  wanted,  to  have  the  right  to  comfort 
and  support. 

"So  sorry  you  can't  stay  over  to-morrow!  It's 
so  stupid  to  rush  back  to  town  just  when  you  are 
beginning  to  get  good.  Why  can't  you  make  a 
week  of  it  while  you  are  here?  Only  three  more 
days." 


256  What  a  Man  Wills 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't.  It's  been  awfully  jolly. 
I've  enjoyed  every  minute  of  the  time,  but — er — I 
don't  think  I  ought.  Business,  you  know!" 

Delia  was  annoyed,  and  showed  it. 

"Awfully  boring  it  must  be,  to  be  a  City  man, " 
said  she  with  her  nose  in  the  air.  "Always  having 
to  keep  your  nose  to  the  grind.  That's  why  I 
like  army  men.  You  can  depend  upon  them.  I 
shall  telegraph  to  Captain  Rawle,  and  ask  him  to 
take  your  place.  He'll  jump  at  it. " 

"Conceited  ass!"  muttered  Lessing  under  his 
breath.  He  looked  at  Delia  and  saw  beneath  her 
pretence  of  indifference  a  mistiness  of  eye,  a  tremor 
at  the  corner  of  the  lips,  the  meaning  of  which 
was  plain  even  to  his  obtuse  masculine  senses, 
and  at  the  sight  his  prudence  fled  to  the  winds. 

"Delia!"  he  cried  rapturously.  "Delia!  Oh, 
my  darling,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  care  ? 
Delia,  does  it  matter  to  you  whether  I  go  or  stay? 
Do  you  really,  really  mean  to  say " 

"I — I  didn't  say  anything — I — I — of  course, 
I  care!  Oh,  Val,  you  are  stupid!"  cried  Delia, 
putting  up  two  white  hands  to  hide  an  exceedingly 
red  face.  Val  knew  a  rapturous  moment  as  he 
bent  to  take  those  hands  in  his,  but,  even  as  he 
moved,  a  warning  rustle  sounded  from  the  bushes 
ahead,  and  he  straightened  himself  in  expectation 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    257 

4 

of  the  advent  of  an  intruder.  And  then,  at  that  mo- 
ment, with  a  spasm  of  fear  freezing  his  hot  blood, 
he  saw  once  more  the  face  of  his  enemy.  While 
one  might  have  counted  six,  it  glared  at  him  from 
between  the  branches — the  swarthy,  bearded 
face,  with  the  tufted  eyebrows,  and  the  strong, 
protuberant  teeth.  For  six  long  seconds  the  eyes 
gazed  mockingly  into  his  own. 

Poor  palpitating  Delia,  peeping  between  her 
fingers,  beheld  her  lover  of  a  moment  transformed 
into  a  stricken,  grey-faced  man,  who  sat  huddled 
up  on  his  seat,  staring  before  him  with  a  gaze  of 
helpless  despair.  There  was  no  more  blushing  and 
trembling  after  that — Delia  simply  wrapped  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  crooned  over  him  with 
tender,  loving  words. 

"Val,  my  own  Val.  What  is  it?  I'm  here. 
Delia's  here.  Nobody  shall  hurt  you,  dearest; 
no  one  shall  harm  you.  Delia's  here.  Look  at 
me,  Val — my  own,  own  Val!" 

The  words  pierced.  Through  all  the  horror 
and  the  fear,  their  sweetness  reached  to  the  brain, 
and  turned  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  One  look 
he  gave  her,  a  look  of  passionate  gratitude  and  love, 
then  to  her  utter  bewilderment  he  lifted  her  to  her 
feet  and  drew  her  to  the  entrance  of  the  summer- 
house. 

17 


258  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Go,  darling — go!  Go  quickly!  You  can  help 
me  best  that  way.  Go  quickly!" 

Delia  stared  at  him,  and  a  sudden  explanation 
leaped  into  her  brain.  Heart  disease!  Val  had 
discovered  that  his  heart  was  affected,  that  was  the 
reason  of  his  changed  looks.  At  the  moment  he 
was  threatened  with  a  spasm  of  pain,  and  man-like 
preferred  to  be  alone.  Obediently  Delia  walked 
away,  her  heart  torn  with  sympathy.  But  when 
they  were  married  she  would  take  such  good  care 
of  him,  such  incessant,  all-encompassing  care,  that 
he  must,  he  should  get  well! 

Lessing  watched  her  go,  and  then  deliberately 
moved  a  chair  to  the  centre  of  the  entrance  to  the 
summer-house,  seated  himself  astride,  and  bent 
his  head  on  the  rail. 

He  had  no  longer  the  wish  to  fight  for  his  life. 
Better  a  thousand  times  that  the  end  should  come 
now,  rather  than  later  on.  He  was  ready.  He 
was  waiting.  He  prayed  that  there  would  not  be 
long  to  wait.  At  the  hour  when  he  least  expected 
it  his  call  had  come! 

"Now  then,  old  fellow,  now  then!  Sit  up,  will 
you?  What's  the  matter  with  you?  That's 
right — that's  right.  Keep  your  hair  on,  old  man. 
You're  not  half  as  bad  as  you  think  you  are!" 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    259 

Terence  Gordon's  breezy  voice  boomed  in  Less- 
ing's  ear.  Terence's  big  hands  laid  hold  of  him, 
turned  him  round  on  his  chair,  and  pressed  him 
back  against  its  rails.  His  good-humoured  face 
puckered  with  concern  as  he  met  the  blank  stare 
in  the  man's  eyes,  and  he  continued  to  pour  forth 
a  stream  of  slangy  reassurements,  the  while  Less- 
ing  slowly  regained  his  composure.  He  could  not 
have  told  whether  it  was  ten  seconds  or  ten  hours 
during  which  he  had  sat  waiting  for  death,  but  so 
utterly  had  he  lost  touch  with  the  things  of  earth 
that  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  he  could  realize 
that  he  was  still  alive  and  unharmed,  and  that  this 
singularly  earthly  young  man  was  seated  by  his 
side,  ragging  him  for  his  mysterious  exhibition  of 
funk. 

"Got  'em  again — eh,  what?"  said  Terence 
severely.  "Tell  you  what,  you  gave  me  a  touch 
myself,  when  you  leaped  upon  me  like  that. 
Steady,  old  man.  Steady!  What's  it  all  about?" 

"Terence,"  said  Lessing  thickly,  "go  back  to 
the  house.  Look  after  your  sister.  I — I  am  going 
away.  I  can't  stay.  I'm  bringing  danger  upon 
her,  upon  you  all — I  can't  explain.  I — I've  been 
warned " 

"Strikes  me,"  said  Terence  slowly.  "Strikes 
me,  if  there's  any  taking  care  of  Delia  to  be  done, 


26o  What  a  Man  Wills 

it's  your  business  to  do  it.  Hardly  playing  the 
game  is  it,  to  run  away  just  at  this  point?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  torture  me,"  cried 
Lessing  wildly.  "How  can  you  judge?  You 
don't  understand.  You  don't  understand " 

"Strikes  me  very  forcibly,  my  dear  fella,"  said 
Terence  once  more,  "that  it's  you  that  don't 
understand ! "  He  thrust  his  arm  round  the  corner 
of  the  summer-house,  and  produced  the  small  black 
bag,  which  he  was  wont  to  carry  on  his  expeditions 
to  hospital.  He  placed  the  bag  on  the  table,  and 
seated  himself  before  it  with  an  air  of  intense  en- 
joyment. "Just  keep  your  eye  on  your  uncle,  my 
lad,  and  we'll  see  if  he  can  help  you  to  understand ! " 

And  then,  calmly,  complacently,  in  the  full  light 
of  day,  that  medical  student  produced  from  that 
bag — first,  a  wig  of  black  hair  powdered  with  grey; 
secondly,  a  beard;  thirdly,  a  pair  of  tufted  eye- 
brows ;  fourthly  a  curious  arrangement  of  wire  clips 
connecting  four  large  teeth;  and  fifthly,  a  bottle 
containing  a  brown  fluid  or  dye. 

Calmly,  composedly,  in  the  full  light  of  day, 
did  that  medical  student  don  one  after  the  other: 
the  wig,  beard,  eyebrows,  and  teeth,  and  dab  an 
illustrative  patch  of  brown  on  either  cheek.  Then 
folding  his  arms  after  the  manner  of  the  villain  in 
British  melodrama,  he  hissed  forth  the  words  which 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger     261 

had  rung  ceaselessly  in  Lessing's  ears  for  the  last 
six  weeks: 

"Tr-r-r-aitor!  The  doom  which  you  have 
postponed  shall  fall  upon  your  own  head.  At 
the  hour  when  you  least " 

Lessing  seized  his  arm  in  a  grip  of  steel. 

"Silence!  Terence,  what  does  this  mean?  Do 
you  dare  to  tell  me  that  it  was  you  who  has  made 
my  life  a  torture  all  these " 

But  Terence  was  not  to  be  daunted.  He 
twitched  his  arm  away,  and  defended  himself 
with  his  usual  energy. 

"What's  that — torture?  What  do  you  mean 
by  talking  of  torture?  Weren't  you  forever  grous- 
ing about  the  dullness  of  life,  and  bemoaning  your- 
self because  you  couldn't  have  a  taste  of  excite- 
ment? Weren't  you  forever  gassing  about  the  thrill 
of  danger,  and  boasting  of  your  adventurer's  blood? 
Ought  to  be  jolly  thankful  to  me  for  giving  you  a 
taste  of  the  real  gen-u-ine  article !  I  dare  you  to 
say  I  didn't  do  it  uncommonly  well,  too.  Very 
friendly  action,  I  call  it.  You  needed  someone  to 
bring  you  to  your  senses.  Mooning  along,  spoiling 
your  own  life,  and  er — er —  Hang  it  all — she  is 
my  sister!"  concluded  Terence  with  a  touch  of 
righteous  indignation. 

Lessing  sat  staring,  a  picture  of  stupefaction. 


262  What  a  Man  Wills 

The  words  were  understandable  enough;  he  heard 
them  with  his  ears,  but  his  brain  refused  to  take 
in  the  meaning. 

11  You!  It  was  you?  You  came  into  that 
restaurant,  sat  at  my  table — spilled  that  salt?" 

"I  did.  I'd  had  one  or  two  shots  before  that, 
but  they  didn't  come  off,  but  the  salt  was  a  fair 
catch.  You'd  spun  us  that  yarn  more  than  once — 
forgot  that,  didn't  you?  So  I  tried  it,  and  you 
caught  on  like  an  eel.  The  rest  was  as  easy  as 
falling  off  a  log.  Where  else  should  you  go  but 
Scotland  Yard?  I  went  on  in  advance,  watched 
you  out,  and  trotted  along  in  the  rear,  waiting  for  a 
suitable  moment  to  give  you  another  thrill.  Then 
I  went  home  to  bed!  Got  home  a  little  quick- 
er than  you  did  that  night,  sonny,  I  fancy! 
What?" 

The  rush  of  anger  and  humiliation  which  came 
at  the  remembrance  of  that  two  hours  of  laborious 
dodging  and  turning  did  more  to  revive  Lessing 
than  any  amount  of  reassurement.  He  set  his 
teeth,  and  continued  the  cross-examination. 

"And  that  night  in  the  Square." 

"Hang  it,  yes!  That  was  me,  all  right.  I'd 
wasted  four  evenings  hanging  about,  so  I  felt  pretty 
murderous  that  night.  Pretty  good  sport,  though, 
to  see  you  bolt  into  that  doctor's  place.  How  I 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    263 

did  laugh!     By  the  way,  did  you  take  the  physic 
he  ordered?" 

Lessing  gave  him  a  steely  glance. 

1    r 

"And  the  message,  the  telegram  from  Blakeney? 
You  sent  that,  of  course,  and  arranged  with  that 
car." 

"Just  so.  Ye-es.  That  was,  as  you  might  say, 
my  tour  deforce!  "  said  Terence,  smirking.  "Cost 
me  a  lot  of  fag,  that  did,  to  say  nothing  about  coin 
of  the  realm.  Thought  you  were  fairly  caught  that 
time,  didn't  you?  What  about '  The  Thrill '  when 
you  heard  the  sound  of  the  key  in  the  lock?  Eh, 
what?" 

Lessing  gave  him  a  murderous  glance. 

"How  would  you  have  felt  if  T  had  injured  my- 
self for  life,  climbing  down  from  that  window?" 

"Oh,  shucks!"  Terence  shrugged  with  easy 
assurance.  "Any  juggins  could  have  got  down 
over  that  ivy,  easy  as  walking  downstairs.  And 
you  have  done  a  bit  of  climbing  in  your  day.  Did 
you  get  very  much  stung  by  the  nettles  lying  down 
by  that  wall?" 

Lessing's  jaw  fell;  the  blood  buzzed  in  his  ears. 
An  intolerable  humiliation  encompassed  him. 
Had  he  been  seen  ? 

Terence  burst  into  a  great  roar  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  yes !     He  saw  you  right  enough. 


264  What  a  Man  Wills 

It  was  Jeffries,  you  know.  G.  P.  Jeffries,  sharpest 
fellow  we  have  at  hospital.  He  said  he  had  the 
time  of  his  life,  sitting  upon  that  wall,  watching  you 
quaking  among  those  nettles.  By  the  way,  the 
bag's  all  right.  I've  got  it  locked  away  in  my 
cupboard.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  be  willing,  as 
a  slight  acknowledgment  of  my  trouble,  and  in 
gratitude  for  an  uncommonly  useful  lesson,  to 
regard  the  outlay  on  that  day's  expedition  as 
a — er,  fee?" 

Lessing  stared,  glared,  opened  his  lips  to  pour 
out  heated  words,  stopped  short,  and  expanded 
his  chest  in  a  long,  deep  breath.  Suddenly,  over- 
poweringly,  the  consciousness  of  safety  rushed 
through  his  being,  and  swept  before  it  all  petty 
considerations  for  his  own  dignity  and  self-esteem. 
He  was  free,  he  was  safe;  his  life  was  unthreatened, 
he  was  free  to  plan  ahead,  to  take  upon  himself  new 
claims,  new  responsibilities.  He  felt  again  the 
touch  of  Delia's  arms,  and  knew  an  irresistible 
impatience  to  continue  the  interrupted  scene. 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  addressed  a  few 
dignified  words  to  the  lad  by  his  side. 

"Another  time,  Terence,  we'll  thrash  this 
matter  out.  You  meant  well,  no  doubt,  but ' 

"Just  so.  I  was  sorry  to  interrupt,  but  it 
was  all  done  for  the  best.  She's  in  the  rose 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Danger    265 

garden.      She's    crying!"    volunteered    Terence, 
grinning. 

"Is  it  your  heart?  Is  it  your  heart?"  cried 
Delia  clinging  to  his  arm.  "  Oh,  Val,  is  your  heart 
really  affected?" 

Lessing  clasped  her  to  him,  laughing  a  big,  glad 
laugh,  full  of  the  joy  and  wonder  of  life. 

"It  is,  darling!"  he  cried.  "It  is!  You  have 
affected  it.  Oh,  Delia,  Delia,  let's  be  married, 
let's  be  married  at  once,  and — keep  a  chicken 
farm!" 


IX 

THE    MAN    WHO    WISHED    FOR    SUCCESS 

SUCCESS  was  the  passion  of  John  Malham's  life, 
mediocrity  was  his  bane.  The  ordinary  common- 
place life  which  brings  happiness  and  content  to 
millions  of  his  fellow  men  filled  him  with  a  passion 
of  disgust.  As  he  left  the  Tube  station  morning 
and  night,  and  filed  out  into  the  street  among  the 
crowd  of  black-coated,  middle-class  workers,  an 
insignificant  unit  in  an  insignificant  whole,  a  feel- 
ing of  physical  nausea  overcame  him.  There  were 
grey-haired  men  by  the  hundred  among  the  throng, 
men  not  only  elderly,  but  old,  working  ceaselessly 
day  by  day  at  the  same  dull  grind,  returning  at  night 
to  small  houses  in  the  suburbs.  From  youth  to  age 
they  had  toiled  and  expended  their  strength,  and 
this  was  their  reward!  In  a  few  years'  time  they 
would  die,  and  be  buried,  and  the  great  machine 
would  grind  on,  oblivious  of  their  loss.  Slaves, 
puppets,  automata  who  were  content  to  masquer- 
ade in  the  guise  of  men!  John  Malham  squared 

266 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    267 

his  great  shoulders  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of  con- 
tempt. Not  for  him  this  dull  path  of  mono- 
tony. By  one  means  or  another,  he  had  vowed  to 
his  own  heart  to  rise  to  the  top  of  the  tree,  and 
make  for  himself  a  place  among  men. 

Malham  was  a  barrister  by  profession;  a  bar- 
rister, without  influence,  and  with  a  private  income 
of  a  hundred  a  year.  His  impressive  per- 
sonality, and  unmistakable  gift  of  argument  had 
brought  him  a  moderate  success,  but  while  others 
congratulated  him,  his  own  feeling  was  an  ever- 
mounting  discontent.  He  was  waiting  for  the 
grand  opportunity,  and  the  grand  opportunity  did 
not  come.  Like  an  actor  who  finds  no  scope  for  his 
talent  in  the  puny  parts  committed  to  his  charge, 
but  feels  ever  burning  within  him  the  capacity  to 
shine  as  a  star,  so  did  Malham  fret  and  chafe; 
intolerantly  waiting  for  his  chance. 

As  an  outlet  for  his  energies  Malham  had 
plunged  into  politics,  and  here  success  had  been 
more  rapid.  As  an  apt  and  powerful  speaker  he 
was  much  in  request,  and  his  circle  of  influential 
acquaintances  grew  apace.  He  was  asked  to  din- 
ner, on  visits  to  country  houses  where  he  was 
entertained  with  cordiality,  as  a  quid  pro  quo  for  a 
speech  at  the  County  Hall.  Politicians  began  to 
say  to- him  with  a  smile :  "We  must  have  you  in  the 


268  What  a  Man  Wills 

House,  Malham."  "I  shall  be  speaking  for  you 
another  day,  Malham!"  "A  man  like  you,  Mal- 
ham, ought  to  be  in  the  Cabinet."  Steadily, 
slowly,  the  conviction  had  generated  that  in 
politics  lay  his  best  hope  of  success. 

But  he  must  have  money.  Even  in  the  days  of 
paid  members  a  man  without  private  means  was 
handicapped  in  the  race.  Once  again  he  could  not 
be  content  to  be  a  unit  in  a  crowd.  He  wished  to 
be  known;  to  make  himself  felt.  To  do  this  it 
would  be  necessary  to  entertain,  to  have  a  home  of 
which  he  could  be  proud.  A  home,  and — a  wife. 

At  this  point  Malham's  hard  face  would  soften 
into  the  tender,  humorous  smile  which  was  re- 
served for  but  one  person  on  earth — for  Celia 
Bevan,  a  high  school  mistress  to  whom  he  had  been 
engaged  for  five  long  years.  Few  of  his  friends, 
and  none  of  his  acquaintances,  had  heard  of  his 
engagement,  for  Malham  was  a  secretive  man,  and 
Celia  was  not  in  his  own  set.  He  had  met  her  on 
a  fishing  holiday  when  they  happened  to  be  staying 
in  the  same  small  inn,  and  for  the  first  and  only 
time  in  his  life  had  been  carried  away  on  a  wave  of 
impulse.  N~-- 

Five  years  ago,  and — this  was  the  extraordinary 
thing ! — his  heart  had  never  regretted  the  madness. 
Celia  was  poor,  unknown,  getting  perilously  near 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    269 

thirty,  but  there  was  an  ageless  charm  about 
Celia,  an  ever-new,  ever-changing,  ever-lovable 
charm,  which  held  him  captive,  despite  the  cold 
remonstrances  of  his  brain.  Nowadays  he  met 
dozens  of  wealthy  and  distinguished  women,  but 
no  duchess  in  her  purple  had  for  him  the  charm  of 
Celia  in  her  shabby  blouses,  seated  in  her  shabby 
lodging,  wrestling  with  the  everlasting  pile  of 
exercise  books. 

She  loved  him — heavens!  how  she  loved  him. 
There  was  nothing  tepid  about  Celia.  Even  eight 
years'  teaching  at  a  high  school  had  been  powerless 
to  beat  down  her  individuality,  or  damp  the  ardour 
of  her  spirit.  She  loved  him  with  a  passion  which 
was  her  very  being,  and  he  loved  her  in  return  as 
devotedly  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  love.  She 
was  his  mate,  the  one  woman  in  the  world  who 
could  understand,  and  sympathize,  and  console. 

But — there  was  Lady  Anne!  Lady  Anne  was 
the  unmarried  daughter  of  his  most  influential 
political  patron,  and  of  late  it  had  been  impossible 
for  Malham  to  disguise  from  himself  the  fact  that 
Lady  Anne  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  powerful 
personality  and  clever,  versatile  tongue.  She  was 
a  pitiful  creature,  this  scion  of  a  noble  house,  a 
thin,  wizened  woman  of  thirty-seven,  plain  with  a 
dull,  sexless  plainness  which  had  in  it  no  redeeming 


270  What  a  Man  Wills 

point,  so  diffident  as  to  be  almost  uncouth  in  man- 
ner, overwhelmed  with  the  consciousness  of  her 
own  social  failure.  Wealthy  and  influential  as 
was  her  family,  no  one  had  ever  wished  to  marry 
"poor  Anne,"  yet  hidden  within  the  unattractive 
exterior  lived  a  loving,  sensitive  heart,  which  had 
gone  hungry  from  the  hour  of  her  birth. 

Now  as  it  happened  Lady  Anne's  brother  was 
nursing  a  certain  constituency  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  his  father's  place,  and  being  neither 
clever  nor  fluent  he  was  thankful  to  avail  himself 
of  the  services  of  an  eloquent  young  barrister,  who 
was  ever  ready  to  run  down  from  town  for  a  few 
days'  visit,  and  deliver  a  rousing  address  in  further- 
ance of  his  cause.  So  it  came  about  that  during 
the  summer  and  autumn  John  Malham  was  a 
frequent  visitor  at  Home  Castle,  and  at  each  visit 
the  secret  of  Lady  Anne  became  more  and  more 
apparent  to  the  eyes  of  onlookers. 

Lady  Anne  wished  to  marry  Malham.  Her 
father  recognized  as  much,  and  decided  resignedly 
that  for  "poor  Anne"  no  better  match  could  be 
expected.  Malham  was  a  gentleman,  came  of  a 
good  stock,  and — given  a  start — was  the  type  of 
man  who  was  bound  to  come  to  the  front.  "We 
could  find  him  a  seat,"  the  Earl  said  to  his  son, 
"and  Anne's  jointure  would  keep  them  going  till 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    271 

he  found  his  feet.  If  he  proposes  for  her,  there'll 
be  no  trouble  from  me.  At  this  time  of  day  we  must 
be  thankful  for  what  we  can  get. " 

Cautiously,  guardedly,  in  after-dinner  confi- 
dences the  young  man  was  allowed  to  infer  that  the 
coast  was  clear.  At  first  he  had  thrust  aside  the  sug- 
gestion with  a  laugh,  as  something  preposterous  and 
impossible,  but  the  poison  worked.  He  began  to 
dally  with  the  thought,  to  project  himself  into  an 
imaginary  future  when  the  circumstances  of  life 
should  make  in  his  favour,  instead  of  acting  as  a 
handicap.  Slowly  and  surely  the  poison  worked. 

One  evening  he  took  his  way  to  Grosvenor 
Square  in  a  frame  of  mind  bordering  on  despera- 
tion. For  months  past  he  had  been  building  on 
the  possibility  of  securing  a  brief  in  a  case  which 
promised  to  afford  one  of  the  sensations  of  the 
year.  He  had  a  chance,  a  promising  chance  it 
had  appeared,  but  that  afternoon  he  had  received 
the  news  that  the  brief  had  gone  past  him  in  favour 
of  another  man,  no  whit  more  capable  than  himself. 
There  were  reasons  for  the  choice  of  which  he  was 
ignorant,  but  in  his  morbid  depression,  the  only 
explanation  lay  in  his  own  insignificance,  in  the 
higher  social  standing  of  his  rival.  He  had  known 
many  such  disappointments,  and  had  smarted 
beneath  them,  but  this  was  the  final  straw  which 


272  What  a  Man  Wills 

broke  down  his  remaining  strength,  and  as  it 
chanced  he  was  left  alone  with  Lady  Anne  after 
dinner,  and  she  ventured  a  timid  question  as  to 
the  cause  of  his  depression. 

Of  what  happened  next  he  had  no  clear  recollec- 
tion; he  answered,  and  she  sympathized,  faltered 
out  a  wish  that  she  might  help;  he  thanked  her, 
and — what  did  he  say  next?  He  could  not  remem- 
ber, but  he  knew  that  he  had  accepted  the  offered 
help,  and  with  it  the  hand  of  the  donor. 

There  were  tears  in  Lady  Anne's  eyes  as  she 
plighted  her  troth.  It  was  the  one  desire  of  her 
heart  to  share  his  life.  He  was  the  most  wonderful, 
the  most  gifted  of  men.  To  be  able  to  smooth  his 
way  would  be  the  proudest  privilege  which  the 
world  could  afford.  She  held  out  her  thin  hand 
as  she  spoke,  and  Malham  pressed  it  in  his  own, 
and  bent  over  it  in  elaborate  acknowledgment. 
The  chill  of  those  fingers  struck  to  his  heart;  he 
left  the  house  and,  walking  along  the  streets,  the 
question  clamoured  insistently  at  his  heart: 

Would  she  expect  him  to  kiss  her? 

He  had  made  an  early  retreat,  and  now  went 
straight  to  Celia's  lodgings.  It  was  part  of  the 
strength  of  his  character  that  he  never  deferred  a 
difficult  duty,  and  to-night  he  knew  himself  faced 
with  the  most  painful  ordeal  of  his  life. 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    273 

Celia  was  sitting  as  usual  before  a  pile  of  exer- 
cise books  in  her  shabby  little  parlor.  Her  white 
blouse  was  mended  in  several  places,  but  it  was 
daintily  fresh,  and  her  auburn  hair  flamed  into 
gold  beneath  the  hanging  lamp.  She  did  not  rise 
as  he  entered,  but  tilted  herself  back  on  her  chair, 
and  stretched  her  tired  arms  with  a  sigh  of 
welcome. 

"Oh,  dearest  and  best,  is  that  you?  Oh,  how 
lovely  it  is  when  you  don't  expect,  and  the  good 
things  come!  I  was  never  more  happy  to  see 
you.  .  .  Kiss  me  several  times!" 

But  he  stood  stiff  and  straight  on  the  shabby 
hearth-rug,  and  delivered  himself  of  his  message : 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Lady  Anne  Mulliner." 

Celia  rose  from  the  chair,  and  seated  herself 
on  the  side  of  the  table.  She  had  grey  eyes  fringed 
with  dark  lashes,  and  a  large,  well-shaped  mouth 
with  lips  which  tilted  agreeably  at  the  corners 
what  time  she  was  amused.  They  tilted  now,  and 
the  grey  eyes  danced.  Malham  was  jesting  in  the 
good  old  way  in  which  he  used  to  jest  before  he 
grew  so  silent  and  preoccupied.  It  had  pleased 
them  then  to  make  believe,  and  act  little  plays  for 
the  other's  benefit.  How  good  it  was  to  jest 
again! 

Celia  hunched  her  shoulders  to  her  ears,  and 

IS 


274  What  a  Man  Wills 

pointed  at  him  with  a  dramatic  finger.  Her  voice 
rang  in  loud,  stagey  accents : 

"False  caitiff,  wouldst  thou  indeed  betray  my 
innocent  trust?  Full  many  a  year  have  I  waited  in 
love  and  fealty,  and  wouldst  thou  spurn  the  poor 
maiden's  heart?"  She  pulled  her  handkerchief 
out  of  her  belt,  flourished  it  to  her  eyes,  then  sud- 
denly subsided  into  laughter,  and  an  easy:  "The 
poor  old  scarecrow!  Jack!  it's  not  kind.  .  . 
What  about  that  kiss?" 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Lady  Anne  Mulliner," 
repeated  Malham  once  more.  Celia  put  her  head 
on  one  side,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  winsome 
look,  the  look  he  most  loved  to  see. 

"All  right,  ducky  doo!  Why  shouldn't  you? 
She'll  be  most  pleased.  But  for  to-night,  you  see, 
you  belong  to  me,  and — er — I  haven't  seen  you  for 
three  whole  days!" 

"Celia,  you  must  believe  me.  I  mean  it. 
I  proposed  to  Lady  Anne  an  hour  ago,  and  she 
accepted  me.  We  are  engaged.  I  came  straight 
here  to  tell  you. " 

The  smile  faded  from  Celia's  face.  She  looked 
startled  and  grave,  but  there  was  no  serious  alarm 
on  her  face. 

"Jack— why?" 

He  threw  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    275 

"Because  I  can't  endure  this  life.  I've  missed 
that  case;  it  has  gone  past  me  as  usual,  to  a  fellow 
with  influence.  There  is  no  hope  for  a  man  who 
has  no  position,  no  one  behind.  It  would  drive  me 
mad  to  go  on  year  after  year  with  this  hopeless 
struggle.  It  is  driving  me  mad  now.  To-night  I 
felt  desperate.  I  would  have  given  anything  in 
the  world  to  buy  my  chance,  and  the  opportun- 
ity came.  I  took  it.  I  had  not  the  power  to 
refuse. " 

1 '  Poor  Jack ! "  she  said  softly.     ' '  Poor  Jack ! ' ' 

He  had  expected  reproaches,  tears,  wild  protesta- 
tions. Celia  was  impetuous  by  nature,  and  the 
peace  between  them  had  not  been  unbroken  by 
storms.  He  was  prepared  for  violence,  but  this 
gentleness  played  havoc  with  his  composure. 
His  face  twitched,  he  turned  towards  her  with 
passionate  entreaty. 

"Celia,  I'm  a  brute,  a  coward.  Nothing  that 
you  can  say  of  me  is  bad  enough.  You've  been  an 
angel,  and  I  know,  I  knew  all  the  time  that  I  hurt 
you  by  delaying  our  marriage.  You  would  have 
been  satisfied  with  a  small  beginning;  it  was  I 
who  was  not  content.  I've  kept  you  waiting  year 
after  year,  and  now  at  the  end  I  have  sold  myself 
to  another  woman." 

"You  can't  sell  what  is  not  your  own.    You 


276  What  a  Man  Wills 

can't  give  what  is  not  your  own.  You  belong  to 
me.  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  up ! " 

She  rose,  and  going  up  to  him  clasped  both  hands 
round  his  arm.  Her  face  was  white,  but  she  smiled 
still ;  on  her  pale  cheek  a  dimple  dipped  and  waned. 

"You  were  tired  and  depressed.  You  saw  the 
chance,  and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  the  easiest 
way,  but  you  can't  do  it,  Jack;  you  can't  do  it! 
There's  something  else  that  you  had  forgotten. 
There's  me!  You  love  me,  Jack." 

She  raised  her  face  to  his  with  a  wooing  smile, 
and  a  groan  burst  from  his  lips.  This  was  torture. 
His  heart  was  torn,  but  his  resolution  remained 
unchanged. 

"Heaven  knows  I  do.  You  are  the  only  woman 
I  can  ever  love.  I  love  you  more  dearly  than 
anything  on  earth.  Except  one ! " 

"And  that?" 

"Myself.  Success.  The  career  that  Lady 
Anne  can  give " 

"Poor  Jack!"  sighed  Celia  again.  She  leaned 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  with  her  old  movement  of 
confiding  love.  For  five  long  years  those  broad 
shoulders  had  been  her  resting-place,  a  bulwark 
between  herself  and  the  outer  world.  She  drew 
him  with  her  to  the  sofa,  and  rested  there  now.  It 
was  impossible  to  thrust  her  away. 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    277 

"If  you  loved  another  woman,  darling,  if  you 
had  grown  tired  of  me,  I'd  let  you  go  without  a 
word.  I'd  want  you  to  go,  but  I'm  not  going  to 
let  you  spoil  your  life.  I  haven't  loved  you  all 
these  years  without  knowing  your  faults  as  well  as 
your  virtues.  The  outside  world  sees  your  clever- 
ness and  charm,  but  the  best  in  you,  the  very  best 
Jack — that  belongs  to  me!  If  you  lost  me,  it 
would  die.  There'd  be  nothing  left  but  the 
husk  of  John  Malham.  The  cold,  hard  husk  with 
nothing  inside." 

"You  may  be  right,  Celia.  I  expect  you  are 
right,  but  I  have  made  my  choice.  You  can't 
understand,  no  woman  could  understand  how  men 
can  put  ambition  before  love,  but  they  do  it.  It  is 
done  every  day.  I  don't  say  I  shall  not  suffer — 
you  know  I  shall  suffer!"  His  voice  broke 
suddenly.  ' '  Celia,  darling  ! ' ' 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  lying  motionless 
against  his  heart,  then  she  spoke  in  a  soft  murmur 
of  reminiscent  tenderness. 

"D'you  remember,  Jack,  the  evening  we  were 
engaged?  You  walked  about  all  night  because 
you  were  afraid  you  might  go  to  sleep  and  think 
it  was  a  dream,  and  you  scribbled  a  letter  in 
pencil  beneath  a  lamp-post,  and  put  it  into  the 
letter-box  so  that  I  might  have  it  at  breakfast. 


278  What  a  Man  Wills 

I've  got  it  yet — in  tissue  paper,  to  keep  the  pencil 
fresh." 

"Celia — don't!  You  torture  me.  Of  course 
I  remember. " 

"D'you  remember  that  day  up  the  river  when 
we  quarrelled,  and  I  cried  all  over  the  tea?  When 
I  got  home  at  night  my  face  was  all  smudged. 
I'd  been  handling  the  kettle,  and  then  dried  my 
eyes,  and  you  had  never  said  a  word  about  it,  but 
had  been  so  lovely  to  me  all  the  way  home.  I  did 
love  you  for  that,  Jack!" 

"I  had  made  you  cry  to  start  with.  I've  made 
you  cry  too  often.  Don't  cry  for  me  now,  Celia! 
I'm  not  worth  it.  You  will  be  better  without  me. " 

Then  for  the  first  time  there  came  a  flash  of 
anger.  She  sat  up  suddenly  and  faced  him  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"How  dare  you  say  it?  How  dare  you  say  such 
a  He?  Without  you — ?  What  would  be  left 
to  me  if  you  went?  You  are  my  life.  There  has 
been  no  room  for  anyone  else ;  you  have  demanded 
everything  for  yourself, — all  my  care,  all  my 
thought,  all  interest,  all  my  love, — and  I  have 
given  them  to  you,  till  there  is  nothing  left,  and 
I  am  powerless  to  live  alone.  You  know  it  is 
true!" 

"You  think  so  now,  Celia,  but  you  will  find  life 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    279 

easier  without  me.  This  hopeless  waiting  is  hard 
on  a  woman,  and  I've  drawn  on  you  all  these 
years,  always  asking,  always  needing.  It's  a 
wrench,  but  it  will  be  better  for  us  both.  Celia, 
I  haven't  given  you  up  without  a  struggle.  I 
make  no  defence.  I  know  I  am  treating  you 
abominably,  but  this  thing  is  stronger  than 
myself.  I  cannot  go  on.  I  must  go  my  own 
way." 

"I  will  never  give  you  up!"  said  Celia  firmly. 
She  held  out  her  left  hand  the  third  finger  of  which 
was  encircled  by  the  engagement  ring,  an  inexpen- 
sive trifle  in  turquoise  and  pearls.  "You  put  that 
ring  there,  and  made  me  swear  that  it  should  never 
come  off  until  the  wedding-ring  was  put  in  its 
place.  It  never  shall !  It's  no  use  giving  me  back 
my  promise.  You  don't  realize  what  you  are 
asking.  It  is  an  impossibility.  I  can  never 
believe  that  you  seriously  intend  to  marry  another 
woman  until  I  see  her  walking  out  of  church  on 
your  arm.  And  then " 

"Then " 

"It  would  kill  me,  Jack.    I  could  not  live." 

Malham  rose  hastily,  and  strode  across  the  room. 
His  endurance  was  at  an  end.  Of  what  use  to 
prolong  the  agony?  His  mind  was  made  up,  it 
was  useless  to  go  on  torturing  Celia  and  himself. 


280  What  a  Man  Wills 

"It  is  too  late,  the  thing  is  done.  There  is  no 
drawing  back.  We  are  engaged. " 

"Will  you  walk  about  all  night,  Jack,  in  case 
you  fall  asleep  and  find  it  is  a  dream?  Will  you 
write  a  letter  in  pencil  and  slip  it  into  her  letter- 
box so  that  she  may  have  it  at  breakfast?" 

"Celia,  don't!  For  God's  sake,  don't.  .  . 
I  can't  stand  this!" 

"Will  you  quarrel  with  her,  Jack,  and  kiss, 
and  make  it  up?  Will  she  stroke  your  head  when 
you  are  tired,  to  take  away  the  pain,  and  will  you 
lie  and  look  up  in  her  face,  and  make  up  little 
verses  about  her  eyes?  I've  got  all  your  verses, 
Jack,  dozens  of  them,  locked  away  in  my  desk." 

"You  know  I  won't.  That  sort  of  thing  is  over 
for  ever.  It  is  the  price  I  shall  have  to  pay.  One 
can't  have  the  one  big  thing,  and  everything  else 
into  the  bargain.  I  have  made  my  choice,  and  the 
rest  must  go." 

"But  we  must  make  quite  sure  what  is  the  big 
thing.  /  am  your  big  thing,  Jack.  You  are 
tired  and  discouraged,  and  when  people  are  dis- 
couraged things  look  out  of  proportion.  To-day 
you  put  success  first,  and  Celia  second,  but  you  will 
find  out  your  mistake.  You  can't  live  without 
me,  Jack,  any  more  than  I  can  live  without  you. 
It's  gone  deeper  than  you  think. " 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    281 

Malham's  hand  was  on  the  door,  but  he  turned 
at  that  last  word  and  looked  at  her  across  the  room. 
She  sat  as  he  had  so  often  seen  her,  leaning  forward 
from  the  waist,  her  chin  cupped  in  her  hand,  her 
grey  eyes  bent  on  him  with  an  intensity  of  love. 
Among  the  drab  furnishings  of  the  room,  the  glow- 
ing mass  of  her  hair  shone  with  a  burnished  splen- 
dour. The  sight  of  her  represented  all  that  was 
gracious  and  beautiful — his  thought  leaped  to  that 
other  woman  from  whom  he  had  parted  but  an 
hour  before,  he  saw  the  two  faces  side  by  side,  and 
for  a  moment  he  wavered.  Only  a  moment, 
then  he  hardened  himself,  and  turned  once  more. 

"  It  is  too  late.  I  have  made  my  choice.  Good- 
bye, Celia. " 

11  Au  revoir,  Jack.  My  Jack!  You  will  come 
back  to  me!" 

Her  voice  rang  strong  and  valiant.  In  just 
that  voice  she  had  put  courage  into  him  time  and 
again  when  he  had  come  nigh  to  despair.  In  just 
that  voice  had  she  breathed  her  undying  confidence 
in  the  future.  But  this  time  when  he  was  lost  to 
sight,  and  the  thud  of  the  closing  door  sounded 
through  the  little  house,  Celia  laid  her  bright  head 
on  the  table,  and  her  tears  fell  fast  on  the  scattered 
papers. 


282  What  a  Man  Wills 

In  aristocratic  circles  engagements  are  of  short 
duration.  Malham  was  thankful  of  the  fact,  and 
acceded  eagerly  to  a  proposed  date  less  than  six 
weeks  ahead.  A  furnished  flat  was  secured  in 
which  he  and  Lady  Anne  could  set  up  housekeep- 
ing, leaving  the  choice  of  a  permanent  residence  to 
be  made  at  leisure.  He  welcomed  that  decision  as 
a  relief  from  a  painful  ordeal.  It  had  been  a 
favourite  amusement  of  Celia's  to  go  house-hunt- 
ing on  holiday  afternoons,  and  under  her  guidance 
it  had  proved  a  beguiling  occupation.  When  luck 
was  in  the  ascendant  she  would  put  on  her  best 
hat,  obtain  orders  to  view  mansions  in  West  End 
squares,  and  give  herself  airs  to  the  caretaker  on 
the  subject  of  ball-room  accommodation.  When 
luck  waned  she  would  escort  him  to  garden 
suburbs,  and  gush  over  a  sitting-room  four  yards 
by  five.  And  the  furniture  for  mansion  and  villa 
alike  had  been  chosen  a  hundred  times  over  from 
a  point  of  vantage  outside  shop  windows.  It  would 
have  been  molten  torture  to  go  house-hunting  and 
furnishing  with  Lady  Anne ! 

In  a  quiet  unobtrusive  fashion  Lady  Anne  was 
exacting.  She  expected  daily  visits,  which  were 
periods  of  acute  misery  to  her  fiance.  Her  uncouth 
efforts  to  worm  herself  into  his  confidence  shamed 
and  exasperated ;  he  was  disagreeably  conscious  of 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    283 

disappointing  her  expectations,  yet  more  and 
more  did  it  become  impossible  to  act  the  lover's 
part.  Conversation  would  lag  between  them  and 
finally  come  to  an  end,  then  Anne's  small  eyes 
would  redden  as  from  unshed  tears,  she  would  lay 
her  chill  hands  on  his,  and  ask  wistfully : 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  John?  Have  I  offended 
you  in  any  way?" 

"How  could  you  offend  me,  Anne?  You  are 
everything  that  is  good  and  generous.  I  am  most 
grateful  for  all  you  have  done." 

"But  you  must  love  me,  too.  I  want  you  to 
love  me.  You  do  love  me,  John?" 

Once  or  twice  at  such  questioning,  a  flood  of 
anger  and  loathing,  almost  maniacal  in  its  fury, 
rushed  through  Malham's  veins,  urging  him  on 
until  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  refrain  from  bursting 
into  cruel  laughter,  into  bitter,  gibing  words. 
Love  her!  That  pitiful,  sexless  thing — he  who 
had  known  Celia,  and  held  her  in  his  arms.  Was 
Anne  blind  that  she  could  not  see  what  manner  of 
woman  she  was?  Had  she  no  sense  that  she  could 
not  realize  the  nature  of  the  bargain  between 
them? 

And  every  week  of  that  endless  six  a  letter 
came  to  him  from  Celia  bearing  the  same 
message: 


284  What  a  Man  Wills 

"I  have  seen  it  in  the  paper,  Jack,  but  I  know 
it  is  not  true.  You  will  never  do  it.  You  can't 
do  it,  Jack.  You  belong  to  me.  Dear,  it  will  be 
harder  with  every  day  that  passes.  Be  brave  and 
end  it  now!  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  Nothing  that  she  can  give  you  will 
make  you  happy  apart  from  me.  It's  been  hard 
for  you — I  know  it  too  well,  and  you  shall  never 
hear  a  word  of  reproach,  but — come  soon,  Jack! 
It's  weary  waiting.  I  have  given  you  so  much 
that  I've  no  power  to  live  alone.  Your  Celia." 

Each  letter  said  the  same  thing  in  different 
words,  and  each  time  that  one  arrived  the  struggle 
between  love  and  ambition  was  fought  afresh  in 
Malham's  mind.  Never  before  had  he  realized  all 
that  Celia  had  counted  for  in  his  life ;  never  had 
he  yearned  so  passionately  for  her  presence.  A 
dozen  times  over  he  started  with  rapid  footsteps 
to  answer  her  appeal  in  person,  but  never  once 
did  he  arrive  at  his  destination.  The  very 
sight  of  the  mean  streets  through  which  he  was 
obliged  to  pass,  served  to  chill  his  enthusiasm 
and  awake  the  remembrance  of  all  that  a  rec- 
onciliation must  entail.  To  break  off  his  en- 
gagement with  Lady  Anne  Mulliner  at  the 
eleventh  hour  would  be  to  alienate  his  political 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success     285 

patrons  and  ring  the  death  knell  of  his  hopes.  He 
would  be  obliged  to  drag  on  year  after  year  waiting 
for  a  chance  of  distinguishing  himself  at  the  Bar, 
living  meantime  in  one  of  these  mean  little  houses, 
in  one  of  these  mean  little  streets,  turning  out 
morning  after  morning  to  make  his  way  to  the 
Tube,  among  the  crowd  of  black-coated,  middle- 
class  workers. 

The  struggle  ended  each  time  in  the  victory  of 
ambition.  He  turned  and  retraced  his  steps  to- 
wards his  own  chambers. 

The  last  letter  arrived  on  the  morning  of  the 
marriage.  Its  message  was  the  same,  but  the 
valiant  confidence  had  waned,  and  a  note  of  wild- 
ness  took  its  place.  Yet  even  now  Celia  would 
not,  could  not,  believe  that  his  decision  was 
irrevocable.  Even  now  she  adjured  him  to  reflect, 
to  remember,  to  be  warned!  The  handwriting 
was  rough  and  untidy,  hardly  recognizable  as 
Celia's  dainty  calligraphy;  in  every  line,  in  every 
word  there  were  signs  of  agitation  and  despair,  but 
as  Malham  recognized  with  a  pang,  there  was  still 
no  word  of  reproach. 

He  kissed  the  letter  and  held  it  passionately  to 
his  lips,  before  he  dropped  it  into  the  fire.  The 
husband  of  the  Lady  Anne  Mulliner  must  not 
treasure  love  letters  from  another  woman.  The 


286  What  a  Man  Wills 

paper  flamed  orange  and  blue,  then  shrivelled  into 
blackened  ashes.  Malham,  looking  on,  read  into 
the  sight  a  simile  with  his  own  life.  The  beauty, 
the  splendour  of  it  were  burnt  out;  nothing  but 
ashes  remained. 

It  was  a  curious  reflection  for  a  man  who  would 
that  day  plant  his  foot  firmly  on  the  ladder  of 
success ! 

The  fashionable  church  was  filled  to  overflowing; 
reporters  seated  in  points  of  vantage  jotted  down 
the  names  of  the  aristocratic  guests  with  other 
details  of  public  interest.  "Marriage  of  an  Earl's 
Daughter. "  "  Romantic  Marriage. "  "  Marriage 
in  High  Life."  The  titles  were  already  drawn  out 
awaiting  the  following  description.  ' '  The  Duchess 
of  A.  looked  charming  in  amber  velvet  with  a  sable 
cloak.  The  Marchioness  of  B.  looked  charming 
in  green,  with  a  hat  with  white  plumes.  The 
bridesmaids,  eleven  in  number,  were  a  charming 
group  in  grey  satin  and  silver  veils.  They  carried 
charming  bouquets  of  azaleas,  which  with  charm- 
ing gold  and  pearl  bangles  were  the  gift  of  the 
bridegroom.  Their  names  were — .  The  bride 
wore  a  gown  of  white  satin  covered  with  old  Eng- 
lish point  lace,  the  court  train  was  draped  with  the 
same  valuable  lace,  and  lined  with  silver  tissue. 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    287 

She  carried  a  bouquet  of  orchids."  There  were  a 
dozen  reporters  in  the  church,  and  they  used  the 
word  "charming"  many  dozens  of  times  collec- 
tively, but  not  one  of  them  ventured  to  apply  it 
to  the  bride! 

Lady  Anne  cried  in  a  softly  persistent  fashion 
throughout  the  ceremony,  and  the  sight  of  her 
tears  awoke  a  smouldering  fury  in  Malham's  heart. 
Why  need  she  cry?  She  had  gained  her  desire. 
It  was  he  who  should  cry !  In  the  vestry  a  young 
married  relative  came  forward,  and  with  deft 
hands  straightened  the  twisted  wreath  and  ar- 
ranged the  folds  of  the  veil.  "Really,  Anne!" 
she  cried  impatiently,  "you  positively  must  think 
of  your  appearance.  My  dear,  if  you  could  see 
yourself!  For  goodness'  sake  pull  yourself  to- 
gether. "  As  she  turned  away,  she  shot  a  glance  at 
Malham,  standing  tall  and  impassive  beside  the 
table,  and  there  came  into  her  eyes  a  cold  compre- 
hending gleam.  "There,"  said  her  eyes,  "stands 
a  man  who  has  sold  his  soul ! "  There  were  eyes  all 
round  him,  studying  him  where  he  stood,  and  in 
them  all  he  read  the  same  condemnation,  the  same 
scorn. 

The  organ  blared ;  the  bridesmaids  ranged  them- 
selves behind  the  bridal  couple,  the  procession  left 
the  vestry,  and  proceeded  down  the  aisle.  Now 


288  What  a  Man  Wills 

there  were  more  eyes,  hundreds  of  eyes,  staring 
with  merciless  gaze.  The  bride  was  trembling 
with  nervousness,  her  chin  shaking  like  that  of  a 
frightened  child.  All  her  life  she  had  been  snubbed 
and  kept  in  the  background;  terror  of  her  con- 
spicuous position  for  the  time  being  swamped  her 
joy  in  her  handsome  spouse.  The  sound  of  her 
panting  breath  came  to  Malham's  ears;  he  hurried 
his  pace  in  fear  of  another  breakdown,  and  the 
laces  of  the  bridal  train  caught  in  the  carved 
woodwork  of  a  pew. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  while  a  brides- 
maid came  to  the  rescue,  and  Malham,  turning  to 
discover  the  nature  of  the  hindrance,  felt  an  icy 
chill  spread  down  his  spine.  In  the  pew  by  his 
side,  within  touch  of  his  hand,  stood  Celia,  tall 
and  slim,  gazing  straight  into  his  face.  Her  hair 
glowed  like  flames  round  her  colourless  face,  her 
lips  were  parted,  showing  a  gleam  of  teeth,  her 
head  was  thrown  back  on  the  white  column  of 
her  throat, — each  cherished  detail  of  her  beauty 
smote  on  Malham  with  a  separate  pang,  but  it  was 
the  expression  in  her  eyes  which  chilled  his  blood. 
What  was  the  expression  in  her  eyes  ? 

Malham's  heart  beat  in  sickening  thuds.  Was  it 
a  moment,  or  an  hour,  during  which  he  stood  and 
stared  back  into  those  terrible  eyes?  To  the  on- 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    289 

lookers  the  pause  was  barely  perceptible;  to  him 
it  seemed  endless  as  eternity. 

It  was  only  when  he  was  seated  beside  his  bride 
in  the  carriage,  and  Anne  was  sobbing  against  his 
shoulder,  that  Malham  realized  the  meaning  of 
Celia's  eyes. 

They  were  dead  eyes.     They  had  no  expression ! 

The  reception  was  a  nightmare,  but  it  came  to 
an  end  at  last,  and  Malham  and  his  bride  bade 
good-bye  to  their  friends,  and  started  on  the  first 
stage  of  their  honeymoon.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  they  should  remain  in  town  until  the  next 
morning,  when  they  were  to  make  an  early  start 
for  the  Continent.  They  drove  to  a  fashionable 
hotel,  where  a  suite  of  rooms  had  been  secured  for 
their  use,  and  after  a  couple  of  hours'  rest,  went 
through  the  ordeal  of  their  first  tete-ci-tdte  meal. 

Malham  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  He  moved, 
he  spoke,  he  ate,  and  drank  as  might  a  machine 
wound  up  to  perform  certain  actions,  but  he  was 
conscious  of  nothing  but  a  pair  of  dead  eyes  gazing 
at  him  out  of  a  living  face.  There  was  only  one 
feeling  of  which  he  was  capable — a  feeling  of  fear — 
of  deadly,  overmastering  fear. 

Dinner  over,  Malham  excused  himself,  and 
repaired  to  the  great  lounge  of  the  hotel.  Anne 
19 


290  What  a  Man  Wills 

had  recovered  her  composure,  and  had  embarked 
upon  a  series  of  sentimental  reminiscences  which 
bade  fair  to  drive  him  demented.  At  all  costs  he 
must  escape  from  her  presence. 

He  seated  himself  at  one  of  the  small  tables  and 
automatically  lifted  an  evening  paper.  The  first 
thing  that  met  his  eye  was  his  own  name  at  the 
head  of  a  column.  "Marriage  of  Mr.  John  Mai- 
ham  and  Lady  Anne  Mulliner. "  He  crushed  the 
sheet  with  a  savage  hand,  and  thrust  it  back  on  the 
table,  and  as  he  did  so  another  paragraph  sepa- 
rated itself  from  the  context  and  smote  upon  his 
brain. 

"Suicide  of  a  High  School  Teacher.  A  well- 
dressed  young  woman  was  drowned  in  the  Serpen- 
tine at  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  The  life-saving 
apparatus  was  put  in  operation  with  all  possible 
speed,  but  when  the  body  was  recovered,  life  was 
found  to  be  extinct.  The  deceased  had  letters  in 
her  possession  addressed  to  Miss  Celia  Bevan,  19 
Wrothesley  Street,  Maida  Vale.  It  is  believed  to 
be  a  case  of  premeditated  suicide. " 

Across  the  hall  two  young  men  were  whispering 
to  each  other  behind  their  papers. 

"That  fellow  over  there,  by  the  big  palm, — 
that's  Malham !  Reading  an  account  of  his  own 


Man  Who  Wished  for  Success    291 

wedding.  Clever  fellow,  but  poor  as  a  rat.  Been 
dragging  along  for  years  at  the  Bar,  but  that's 
all  over  now!  With  a  father-in-law  like  Lord 
Fluteson  to  give  him  a  push,  he'll  soon  romp  ahead. 
Jolly  good  day's  work  this  has  been  for  him!" 

His  companion  looked  across  the  lounge. 

"Some  fellows,"  he  said  grudgingly,  "have  all 
the  luck!" 


X 

THE  GIRL  WHO  WISHED  FOR  WORK 

NORAH  BOYCE  was  one  of  numerous  young  women 
who  have  seen  better  days.  During  the  seven 
years  which  had  elapsed  since  she  had  bidden 
farewell  to  a  Parisian  boarding-school,  she  had 
enjoyed  all  the  sweets  of  existence  which  fall  to  the 
lot  of  a  girl  whom  nature  has  endowed  with  beauty 
and  a  deceased  parent  with  an  income  of  five 
hundred  pounds  a  year.  And  then,  of  a  sudden, 
catastrophe  overtook  her.  Societies  collapsed, 
banks  failed,  labourers  went  on  strike  and  brought 
down  dividends  on  railway  investments.  The 
five  hundred  pounds  was  reduced  to  something  con- 
siderably under  one,  and  Norah  spent  her  nights 
in  tears,  and  her  days  in  studying  the  newspapers 
in  search  of  "something  to  do." 

Being  still  young  in  experience,  she  started  by 
spending  a  small  fortune  on  advertisements  in 
which  she  expressed  her  willingness  to  undertake 
secretarial  duties,  to  act  as  companion  to  an  invalid 

292 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  293 

lady — as  governess  to  young  children,  or  as  instruc- 
tress in  the  arts  of  poker-work,  marquetry,  and 
painting  on  china;  then  as  time  went  on  and  the 
public  continued  to  treat  her  overtures  with 
contempt,  she  abandoned  this  mode  of  procedure, 
and  contented  herself  with  reading  the  notices  for 
which  other  people  had  paid,  and  in  wasting 
postage-stamps  in  reply. 

It  was  when  this  occupation  had  been  continued 
for  several  months  and  her  spirits  had  fallen  to  the 
lowest  possible  ebb  that  her  eye  was  attracted  by  a 
paragraph  which  awakened  new  hopes.  A  lady 
wished  to  meet  with  a  young  person  of  good  prin- 
ciples and  cheerful  disposition,  who  would  accom- 
pany her  to  church  on  Sundays,  spend  some  hours 
of  every  morning  in  reading  aloud,  playing  upon 
the  harmonium,  and  making  herself  useful  and 
agreeable;  and  applicants  were  directed  to  apply 
in  person  at  No.  8  Berrington  Square,  between 
three  and  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"I  shall  try  for  it!"  cried  Norah  instantly. 
"It  will  be  horribly  humiliating.  I  shall  be  shown 
into  the  dining-room,  and  expected  to  take  a  seat 
between  the  sideboard  and  the  door,  as  servants 
do  when  they  are  applying  for  a  situation,  but 
anything  is  better  than  sitting  here,  doing  nothing ! 
I  don't  feel  remarkably  cheerful  at  present,  but  it 


294  What  a  Man  Wills 

is  in  the  old  lady's  power  to  put  me  in  the  wildest 
spirits,  if  she  is  so  inclined.  She  must  be  old — no 
human  creature  under  sixty  could  have  written 
that  advertisement.  She  can't  have  any  children, 
or  she  would  not  be  advertising  for  a  companion ; 
she  must  be  well  off,  or  she  could  not  afford  to  pay 
for  "extras"  in  this  rash  fashion;  she  would  have 
to  put  up  with  being  dull  as  I  have  done  the  last 
month.  Heigho!  It  would  be  very  pleasing  if 
she  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  adopted  me  as  her 
heir!  I  don't  in  the  least  see  why  she  shouldn't! 
I  can  be  very  charming  when  I  choose.  I  shall 
put  on  my  sealskin  coat,  and  my  best  hat!" 

A  few  hours  later,  Miss  Boyce  knocked  at  the 
door  of  No.  8  Berrington  Square,  was  informed  that 
Mrs.  Baker  was  at  home,  and  shown  into  a  room  on 
the  right  of  the  entrance  hall.  It  was  the  dining- 
room.  "Of  course!  I  knew  it!"  said  Norah  to 
herself,  and  straightway  proceeded  to  take  stock  of 
her  surroundings.  A  red  flock  wall-paper,  a  heavy 
mahogany  sideboard,  on  which  were  flanked 
an  imposing  array  of  biscuit-boxes  and  cruets; 
mahogany  chairs  upholstered  in  black  haircloth; 
an  india-rubber  plant  in  the  centre  of  the  table, 
and  an  American  organ  in  the  corner !  The  visitor 
rolled  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  went  through  an 
expressive  pantomime  of  despair,  for  she  was 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  295 

an  artistic,  beauty-loving  creature,  whose  spirits 
were  sensibly  affected  by  the  colour  of  a  wall- 
paper, and  to  whom  it  was  a  real  trial  to  live  in 
ugly  surroundings. 

She  had  barely  time  to  compose  herself  before 
the  door  opened,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house 
made  her  appearance. 

Mrs.  Baker  was  an  old  lady  of  the  white  rabbit 
type,  weak-eyed,  anaemic,  and  kindly,  and  evident- 
ly unaccustomed  to  the  engagement  of  "young 
persons,"  for  she  shook  hands  with  Norah,  seated 
herself  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  fire,  and  waited 
developments  with  a  blandly  inquiring  smile. 

It  was  evident  that  Norah  was  expected  to 
advertise  her  capabilities  without  the  aid  of  the 
usual  cross-questionings,  so,  taking  her  courage  in 
both  hands,  she  launched  forth  into  explanations, 
prefaced,  it  must  sorrowfully  be  admitted,  by  a 
reference  to  better  days;  confessed  to  a  passion 
for  reading  aloud  and  playing  on  the  harmonium, 
and  dwelt  at  length  on  the  advantages  of  her 
scholastic  training.  When  at  last  she  paused  for 
breath,  after  having  talked  for  a  good  five  minutes 
on  end,  the  old  lady  blinked  her  eyes,  and  said: 

"What,  love? — I  didn't  quite  catch  what  you 
were  saying.  I  am  a  little  hard  of  hearing!" 

"I  might  have  known  it!"  Norah  told  herself 


296  What  a  Man  Wills 

reproachfully.  "Deaf,  of  course!  It  just  com- 
pletes the  character,"  and  in  a  heightened  voice 
she  proceeded  to  repeat  every  word  of  her  former 
statement.  Signs  of  impatience  became  visible 
on  the  listener's  face  as  she  proceeded,  and  she 
hurried  on  in  order  to  announce  the  name  of  her 
musical  professor  before  she  should  be  interrupted 
by  the  question  which  was  evidently  hovering  on 
the  old  lady's  lips. 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  meet  a  family  named 
Henstock,  who  lived  in  Finsbury  Park?  A  corner 
house  it  was — white,  with  green  posts  at  the  gate?  " 
queried  Mrs.  Baker,  bending  forward  with  an 
expression  of  breathless  curiosity. 

Norah  gasped,  and  shook  her  head.  The  con- 
nection between  the  family  of  Henstock  in  the 
corner  house  in  Finsbury  Park,  and  her  own 
application  for  the  post  of  companion,  was  so 
exceedingly  remote  as  to  reduce  her  to  a  condition 
of  petrified  silence. 

"How  very  extraordinary!  You  are  so  like 
Mary  Ellen,  the  very  image  of  Mary  Ellen! 
She  was  a  great  favourite  of  mine,  was  Mary 
Ellen,  and  she  married  a  very  worthy  young  man, 
an  assistant  in  a  bank  at  Bradford.  Yes!  She 
had  two  lovely  little  boys.  It  was  very  good  of 
you  to  come  and  see  me,  my  dear,  and  I  should 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  297 

like  very  much  to  have  you  with  me.  I  am  read- 
ing a  most  interesting  biography  at  present,  and 
I  take  in  several  periodicals.  Yes!  Perhaps 
you  could  come  on  Monday  morning.  At  eleven 
o'clock." 

Three  months'  experience  of  answering  adver- 
tisements had  left  Norah  so  little  prepared  for 
this  speedy  acceptance  of  her  services,  that  she 
was  surprised  into  protest. 

"But  I  do  not  wish  to  hurry  your  decision! 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  have  references,  or 
to  consult  your " 

"  No,  love !  I  have  no  one  to  consider  but  myself, 
and  you  have  such  a  strong  resemblance  to  Mary 
Ellen!  It  is  in  this  way:  My  nephew  has  been 
in  the  habit  of  going  to  church  with  me.  I  cannot 
hear  very  much ;  but  I  like  to  go  all  the  same,  and 
John  was  in  the  habit  of  repeating  the  sermon  to 
me  in  the  afternoon.  Yes!  He  is  a  very  estim- 
able-minded young  man,  and  very  good  to  his 
old  aunt!  It  was  he  who  suggested  that  I  should 
advertise  for  a  companion.  He  said  it  would  be 
so  lonely  for  me  if  he  ever  went  out  of  town,  but 
he  will  be  very  pleased  when  I  tell  him  that  I 
have  found  someone  so  like  Mary  Ellen.  He  has 
such  a  dislike  for  these  new-fashioned,  strong- 
minded  girls  who  are  always  calling  out  for  their 


298  What  a  Man  Wills 

rights.  I  am  sure,  my  dear,  that  you  have  too 
much  sense  for  such  notions.  You  look  far  too 
pretty  and  amiable.  Now  about  the  little  matter 
of  remuneration!  .  .  .  Would  half  a  crown  a 
day  be  agreeable?" 

Norah  gasped  again,  with  a  sensation  as  if  a 
pail  of  water  had  been  suddenly  douched  over 
her  head.  Half  a  crown  a  day!  It  was  what 
people  paid  to  charwomen.  Good  Gracious! 
She  tried  to  calculate  what  sum  was  represented 
by  seven  half-crowns,  and  the  delay  which  took 
place  before  she  succeeded  in  settling  the  point 
convinced  her  that,  after  all,  she  would  be  wise 
to  accept  Mrs.  Baker's  offer,  since  in  another 
situation  she  might  possibly  be  required  to  teach 
arithmetic  and  mathematics!  She  perjured  her- 
self, therefore,  by  declaring  that  half  a  crown  would 
be  very  agreeable  indeed,  and  returned  home 
undecided  between  hilarity  and  depression. 

For  the  next  three  weeks  Norah  earned  her 
half-crown  a  day  with  equal  satisfaction  to  her- 
self and  her  employer.  The  biographies  were  a 
trifle  dull,  it  is  true,  and  the  harmonium  decidedly 
creaky  and  out  of  tune,  but  the  old  lady  was  kindly 
and  affectionate,  and  her  companion  had  the 
pleasure  of  feeling  that  her  services  were  appre- 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  299 

ciated.  By  this  time,  however,  she  had  fully 
grasped  the  fact  that  seven  half-crowns  equal 
seventeen-and-six,  and  in  the  conviction  that 
further  effort  was  required  to  secure  herself  from 
anxiety,  had  recommenced  the  daily  searchings 
of  the  newspaper  columns.  Then  it  was  that  she 
discovered  an  advertisement  which  filled  her  with 
a  sense  of  delighted  amusement,  because  of  its 
strange  likeness  and  yet  contrast  to  the  one  of  a 
month  before.  Another  lady,  it  appeared,  was 
desirous  of  finding  a  companion,  but  this  time  the 
advertiser  was  a  champion  of  women's  rights, 
who  wished  to  meet  with  someone  of  like  opinions, 
who  would  walk  with  her  in  the  afternoons  and 
discuss  the  problems  and  difficulties  of  the  sex. 

"'Curiouser  and  curiouser!'"  quoted  Norah 
to  herself.  "What  a  droll  coincidence.  Now, 
if  I  had  not — but  of  course  as  I  have,  I  could  not 
possibly.  .  .  .  And  yet,  why  not?  I  am  sure 
after  being  shut  up  in  that  stuffy  room  all  morn- 
ing reading  those  dull,  old-fashioned  books,  I  am 
in  a  most  daring  and  revolutionary  mood  in  the 
afternoons.  I  should  not  be  pretending  to  take 
an  interest  in  the  suffrage  question ;  I  should  really 
and  truly  feel  it.  ...  It  would  be  instructive 
to  hear  what  this  lady  has  to  say  for  herself,  and 
then,  after  marching  about  the  country  listening 


300  What  a  Man  Wills 

to  her  tirades,  I  should  probably  be  quite  thank- 
ful to  get  back  to  mediaevalism  and  my  dear  old 
lady  in  the  morning.  .  .  .  I'll  do  it!  I  will! 
I'll  go  and  see  her  without  an  hour's  delay .  .  .  .  " 

The  advertisement  had  not  asked  for  a  personal 
application,  but  Norah  had  gained  experience  by 
this  time,  and  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  advant- 
age possessed  by  Miss  Boyce  in  her  sealskin  coat 
and  best  hat,  over  the  "young  persons"  who,  as 
a  rule,  applied  for  situations.  She  intended  to  be 
not  only  heard  but  seen. 

The  advanced  lady  lived  in  a  flat  which  was  as 
artistic  as  the  house  in  Berrington  Square  was 
commonplace.  She  was  a  spinster  of  uncertain 
age,  tall  and  angular,  and  so  formidable  in  appear- 
ance that  at  the  sight  of  her  Norah  was  overcome 
with  a  panic  of  nervousness. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  stammered.  "I — I 
saw  your  advertisement  in  the  Daily  News,  and 
thought  that  I  would — that  is  to  say,  that  I 
would  apply — that  I  would  try  to — to.  ...  I 
hope  I  have  not  inconvenienced  you  by  calling 
in  person!  ..." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  have  already  received 
several  replies,  but  it  is  far  more  satisfactory  to 
have  a  personal  interview, "  returned  the  spinster, 
staring  very  hard  at  Norah 's  hat,  and  craning  her 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work    301 

neck  to  see  how  the  bows  were  arranged  at  the 
back.  "  I  am  ordered  to  take  a  certain  amount  of 
outdoor  exercise  daily,  and  as  my  friends  are  not 
able  to  accompany  me,  I  wish  to  meet  with  a  lady 
who  is  interested  in  the  same  subjects  as  myself, 
and  with  whom  I  can  enjoy  exchange  of  ideas  as 
we  walk.  You  look  rather  young,  but  I  gather 
from  the  fact  of  your  having  replied  to  my  adver- 
tisement, that  you  are " 

"I  am  very  much  interested.  I  should  enjoy 
hearing  your  views,  and,  though  I  am  young,  I 
have  seen  a  great  deal  of  life.  I  have  travelled 
more  than  most  people,  and  am  now  alone  in  the 
world,  and  obliged  to  earn  my  own  living." 

Norah  had  been  in  haste  to  reply,  in  order  to 
avoid  a  more  compromising  statement,  but  now 
she  stopped  short,  surprised  by  a  flash  of  delight 
which  illumined  the  listener's  face. 

"Ah — h!"  cried  Miss  Mellor,  in  the  rapturous 
tone  of  one  who  has  suddenly  been  granted  a 
long-craved-f or  opportunity.  ' '  Then  you  have  had 
experience!  You  know!  You  feel!  You  agree 
with  me  that  the  history  of  the  human  race,  the 
throng  of  events,  the  multifarious  forms  of  human 
life  are  only  the  accidental  form  of  the  Idea; 
they  do  not  belong  to  the  Idea  itself,  in  which 
alone  lies  the  adequate  objectivity  of  the  Will, 


302  What  a  Man  Wills 

but  only  to  that  phenomenon  which  appears  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  individual,  and  which  is  just 
as  foreign  and  unessential  to  the  Idea  itself  as 
the  figures  which  they  assume  are  to  the  clouds, 
or  the  foam  flakes  to  the  brooks!  So  true!  So 
deeply  true!  You  agree  with  me,  I  feel  sure!" 

"Certainly.  Quite  so.  I  mean  to  say — 
naturally !  Oh,  yes.  By  all  means ! "  gasped  Norah 
weakly,  and  her  head  fell  back  against  the  chair. 
She  was  not  to  know  that  the  speaker  had  dis- 
covered her  little  speech  in  a  book  only  one  short 
half -hour  before,  and  had  learned  it  off  by  heart  in 
the  fond  hope  of  being  able  to  introduce  it  in- 
cidentally into  conversation,  and  she  felt  faint  and 
dizzy  with  the  effort  of  trying  to  understand. 

Miss  Mellor  saw  that  she  had  made  an  impres- 
sion, and  beamed  with  complacent  delight. 

"Ah,  yes;  I  see  that  we  are  at  one!"  she  cried. 
"And  is  it  not  a  comfort  to  feel  that,  having  once 
grasped  this  idea,  we  shall  now  be  able  to  distin- 
guish between  the  Will  and  the  Idea,  and  between 
the  Idea  and  its  manifestation?  The  events  of 
the  world  will  now  have  significance  for  us,  inas- 
far  only  as  they  are  the  letters  out  of  which  we 
may  read  the  Idea  of  man.  We  can  never  again 
believe  with  the  vulgar " 

"Oh,  my  goodness!"  cried  Norah  to  herself. 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  303 

"To  think  that  it  should  have  come  to  this! 
I'm  vulgar!  I  must  be;  and  I  never  knew  it! 
I  don't  understand  one  word  she  is  saying.  If  I 
ever  get  out  of  this  room  alive " 

She  sank  still  farther  back  in  her  chair  and 
stared  at  Miss  Mellor  with  fascinated,  unblink- 
ing eyes,  like  a  poor  little  rabbit  beneath  the 
spell  of  the  boa-constrictor.  In  a  dim,  far-off  way, 
she  heard  the  stream  of  unmeaning  eloquence, 
but  her  one  supreme  longing  was  to  bring  the 
interview  to  an  end,  to  crawl  home  and  lie  down 
upon  the  sofa,  and  put  wet  cloths  on  her  head,  and 
go  to  sleep  and  forget  all  about  her  sufferings. 
.  .  .  Suddenly  the  clock  chimed,  and  she  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  it  was  over  half  an  hour  since  she 
had  entered  the  room.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and 
was  about  to  falter  forth  apologies  for  her  ignor- 
ance, when,  to  her  astonishment,  the  advanced 
lady  bore  down  upon  her,  and  grasping  her  hand 
in  fervent  fashion,  declared  that  she  was  enchanted 
to  have  discovered  a  kindred  spirit,  and  that, 
suffering  as  she  did  from  constant  coldness  and 
misunderstanding,  it  was  soul-refreshing  to  meet 
with  one  whose  mind  was  as  her  own,  and  that 
she  would  henceforth  live  in  anticipation  of  their 
afternoon  communions! 

For   one   moment   Norah   was   stupefied   with 


304  What  a  Man  Wills 

amazement,  the  next  her  eyes  shone,  and  the 
dimples  dipped  in  her  cheeks,  for  with  a  flash 
of  intuition  she  had  grasped  the  significance  of  the 
situation !  What  the  advanced  lady  really  desired 
was  not  a  companion  who  would  talk  and  air  her 
own  opinions,  but  a  dummy  figure  to  whom  she 
herself  could  lay  down  the  law;  a  target  at  which 
she  could  let  fly  the  arrows  of  her  newly-acquired 
wisdom.  An  occasional  murmur  of  assent  would 
therefore  be  the  extent  of  the  companion's  duties, 
which  feat  Norah  felt  herself  well  able  to 
accomplish. 

For  the  next  few  months  the  enterprising  Miss 
Boyce  fulfilled  her  two  daily  engagements  with 
equal  satisfaction  to  herself  and  her  employers. 
In  the  morning,  within  the  fusty  confines  of  No. 
8  Berrington  Square,  she  read  aloud  extracts 
from  antiquated  volumes  which  had  been  the 
favourites  of  the  old  lady's  youth;  likewise 
retrimmed  caps,  sprayed  the  leaves  of  the  india- 
rubber  plant,  retrieved  dropped  stitches  in  knitting, 
droned  out  voluntaries  and  national  airs  on  the 
wheezy  old  harmonium,  and  listened  to  endless 
reminiscences  of  the  Henstock  family,  and  other 
worthies  equally  unknown. 

In  the  afternoons  Norah  roamed  the  different 
parks  in  company  with  Miss  Mellor,  preserving 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  305 

an  attentive  silence  while  that  good  lady  quoted 
the  opinions  of  her  friends,  or  paraphrased  the 
leading  articles  in  the  Radical  press.  Her  first 
feeling  towards  this,  the  second  of  her  employers, 
had  been  largely  tinged  with  impatience  and  lack 
of  sympathy,  but  as  time  went  on,  she  relented 
somewhat  in  the  hardness  of  her  judgment,  and 
felt  the  dawning  of  a  kindly  pity.  She  was  a 
very  lonely  woman — this  tall  angular  spinster  who 
talked  so  loudly  of  her  rights;  love  had  never 
come  into  her  life,  and  in  all  the  breadth  of  the 
land  she  had  hardly  a  relation  whom  she  could 
take  by  the  hand. 

Once,  in  the  middle  of  a  heated  argument  on  the 
suffrage,  Miss  Mellor  paused  to  look  longingly  at 
a  curly-headed  baby  toddling  across  the  path; 
and  beside  the  duck-pond  in  Regent's  Park  she 
invariably  lost  the  thread  of  her  argument  in 
watching  the  crowds  of  merry  children  feeding 
their  pets.  Norah  reflected  that  had  Miss  Mellor 
been  a  happy  wife  and  mother  she  might  not  have 
troubled  her  head  about  a  vote.  All  the  same, 
the  result  of  education  on  the  woman's  question 
had  been  to  convince  Norah  that  the  demand  for 
"rights"  had  been  founded  on  some  very  definite 
"wrongs." 

After  the  long  walk  the  two  ladies  would  return 


306  What  a  Man  Wills 

to  tea  in  the  flat,  where  the  companion  consumed 
the  wafer-like  bread  and  butter  and  dainty  cakes 
with  Philistine  enjoyment,  and  even  Miss  Mellor 
herself  descended  from  her  high  horse,  and  in- 
quired curiously: 

"Where  do  you  get  your  hats?" 

Of  her  two  employers  Norah  had  distinct  pre- 
ference for  the  old  lady,  Mrs.  Baker.  She  was  of 
a  more  lovable  nature  than  the  voluble  Miss 
Mellor,  and,  moreover,  as  she  herself  had  an- 
nounced— she  had  a  nephew!  The  nephew  was  a 
handsome,  well-set-up  man  of  thirty,  who  possessed 
considerable  culture  and  refinement,  and  a  most 
ingratiating  kindliness  of  demeanour  towards  his 
homely  old  aunt. 

The  first  Sunday  after  Norah  entered  upon  her 
duties,  young  Mr.  Baker  did  not  call  at  Berrington 
Square;  on  the  second  Sunday  he  came  to  midday 
dinner;  on  the  third,  he  met  the  two  ladies  at  the 
church  door  after  morning  service,  and  remained 
with  them  for  the  whole  of  the  afternoon;  on  the 
fourth,  he  was  already  seated  in  the  pew  when 
they  entered  the  church,  and  he  persisted  in  these 
good  habits  until  it  became  a  matter  of  course  that 
he  should  spend  the  whole  day  in  Berrington 
Square,  as  Norah  herself  had  done  from  the 
beginning  of  her  engagement.  In  the  afternoon 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  3°7 

Mrs.  Baker  would  invariably  make  the  hospitable 
suggestion  that  "if  John  liked"  he  could  descend 
to  a  chill,  fireless  room  in  the  basement  to  indulge 
in  an  after-dinner  weed,  but  John  refused  to  move 
until  Miss  Boyce  had  given  her  repetition  of  the 
morning's  service.  He  said  that  he  was  afraid  she 
might  forget  an  important  point,  in  which  case 
he  should  be  at  hand  to  jog  her  memory.  "John 
is  so  thoughtful!"  said  his  aunt  proudly. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  John  never  once  volunteered 
a  suggestion  on  any  one  of  these  occasions.  He 
seemed  to  be  fully  occupied  in  using  his  eyes  and 
ears,  and  in  truth  it  was  both  a  pretty  and  touching 
sight  to  see  the  young  fresh  face  bent  close  to  the 
withered  countenance  of  the  deaf  old  woman,  and 
to  listen  to  the  thrush-like  tones  of  the  girl's  voice, 
as  with  a  sweet  and  simple  eloquence  she  gave  her 
brief  resume  of  the  morning's  sermon.  The  old 
lady  nodded  and  wagged  her  head  to  enforce  the 
points,  while  the  tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks. 
From  time  to  time  John  also  would  take  a  pro- 
menade to  the  window,  and  clear  his  throat  loudly 
as  he  stared  at  the  dusty  trees.  Strange  how 
much  more  powerful  those  sermons  appeared  in 
the  repetition! 

After  the  recital  was  over,  young  Mr.  Baker 
would  take  Miss  Boyce  to  examine  the  ferns  in 


308  What  a  Man  Wills 

the  tiny  conservatory,  while  his  aunt  enjoyed  her 
forty  winks;  in  the  evening  he  escorted  her  back 
to  her  lodgings.  He  was  a  most  attentive  young 
man! 

In  Mrs.  Baker's  opinion  "John"  was  infallible, 
and  by  and  by  Norah  became  so  much  infected 
with  this  view  that  her  afternoon's  occupation 
became  fraught  with  misery,  as  she  thought  of 
what  "John  "  would  say  if  he  knew  to  what  heresies 
she  was  lending  her  ears.  One  Sunday  afternoon 
returning  to  the  Berrington  Square  drawing-room 
after  a  short  absence,  she  overheard  a  few  words 
which  sent  an  added  pang  through  her  heart. 

" — Most  fortunate  indeed!"  John  was  saying. 
"You  might  have  searched  the  world  over,  and 
not  found  another  like  her.  I  had  begun  to  fear 
that  the  type  was  extinct.  A  sweet,  modest, 
old-fashioned  girl!" 

That  evening  Norah  wet  her  pillow  with  her 
tears,  and  astonished  the  advanced  lady  the  next 
afternoon  by  contradicting  assertions,  and  raising 
up  objections  in  a  most  unprecedented  fashion. 
These  signs  of  backsliding  were  very  distressing 
to  Miss  Mellor,  who  had  been  encouraged  by  her 
companion's  unfailing  acquiescence  to  imagine 
herself  unanswerable  in  argument,  but  she  was 
encouraged  to  believe  that  example  might  per- 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  309 

haps  accomplish  what  precept  had  failed  to 
inspire. 

"You  will,  I  know,  rejoice  with  me  on  a  great 
honour  which  has  been  conferred  upon  me  by 
my  fellow- workers,"  she  announced  proudly  one 
day.  "I  have  been  promoted  from  the  reserves 
to  a  foremost  position  in  the  fighting  line.  lam 
nominated  for  active  service  on  Friday  next!" 

Norah's  eyes  were  exceptionally  large  and 
expressive,  and  the  saucer-like  stare  of  curiosity 
which  she  turned  upon  the  speaker  was  very 
gratifying  to  that  good  lady's  feelings. 

"  On  Friday  evening.  At  the  Albert  Hall.  The 
Chancellor  is  to  speak.  We  shall  be  there.  Twenty 
are  nominated  for  service.  /  am  Number  Nine!" 

Norah  stared  harder  than  ever.  This  sounded 
rather  perilously  like  the  story  of  a  Nihilist 
Plot  which  she  had  read  in  a  shilling  shocker  some 
weeks  before.  She  had  visions  of  bomb  explosions 
and  wholesale  arrests,  and,  as  ever,  the  thought  of 
John  obtruded  itself  into  the  foreground  of  her 
mind.  What  would  John  think  if  Miss  Mellor 
were  arrested,  and  gave  the  name  of  Norah  Boyce 
as  her  chosen  friend  and  confidante? 

"Number  Nine,  for  what?"  she  gasped  ner- 
vously, and  Miss  Mellor  was  hurried  into  un- 
thinking reply: 


310  What  a  Man  Wills 

"For  screaming — I  mean  protesting.  The  first 
eight  champions  will  raise  their  voices  in  rotation. 
They  will  be  silenced,  probably  ejected.  Then 
it  will  be  My  Turn." 

"Ejected!"  Norah  looked  scared.  "Turned 
out.  Oh — h!  How  dreadful!  They  will  seize 
hold  of  you — men  will  seize  hold  of  you,  and  pull 
and  drag.  They  will  pinch  your  arms.  .  .  . 
It  must  be  horrid  to  be  pinched!" 

"What  would  have  become  of  the  world  if 
other  great  reformers  had  ceased  their  struggles 
through  dread  of  being  pinched?"  demanded  Miss 
Mellor  sternly;  and  Norah  felt  snubbed,  and  looked 
it.  She  had  no  courage  left  for  further  argument. 

On  the  next  Friday  afternoon  Norah  took  her 
way  to  the  flat  to  accompany  her  fighting  employer 
on  the  walk  abroad  which  should  invigorate  her 
for  the  evening's  fray,  but  to  her  dismay  found 
the  good  lady  stretched  upon  the  sofa,  very 
flushed  as  to  face,  and  husky  as  to  voice. 

"It  is  quinsy,"  she  announced.  "I'm  subject 
to  it.  I  felt  it  coming  on,  but  I  would  not  give  in. 
I  have  gargled  and  fomented  all  morning,  but  it 
is  too  late.  I  couldn't  scream  to  save  my  life. 
It's  a  terrible,  terrible  disappointment,  but  I  am 
thankful  that  I  need  not  upset  the  Committee's 
plans.  You  shall  take  my  place!" 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  311 

"I?"  cried  Norah  shrilly.  "No,  no— I  can't! 
I  couldn't — I  wouldn't — not  for  anything  in  the 
whole  wide  world!  Call  out  before  a  whole  meet- 
ing, have  them  all  staring  at  me,  strange  men 
catching  hold  of  me,  dragging  my  sleeves, 
crushing  my  hat — never!  I'd  sooner  die!" 

"Then,"  croaked  Miss  Mellor  hoarsely,  "I 
shall  go  myself!"  And  from  this  point  she  re- 
fused to  budge.  She  was  ill;  in  the  natural  course 
of  events  she  would  grow  worse;  if  she  went  out 
into  the  damp  and  the  cold,  and  endured  the 
excitement  of  a  crowded  political  meeting,  she 
would  most  certainly  be  very  ill  indeed;  but  she 
had  promised;  she  could  not  disappoint  the  Com- 
mittee at  the  eleventh  hour;  she  had  no  energy  to 
seek  further  for  a  substitute.  Then  her  voice 
took  a  pathetic  turn,  and  she  sighed  feebly. 

"I  have  been  kind  to  you,  Norah.  I  have  tried 
to  be  your  friend.  Danvers  (the  maid)  would 
accompany  you  to  the  Hall.  You  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  sit  still  and  interrupt  when  your  turn 
arrives.  How  can  you  be  so  selfish  and  unkind?" 

As  time  went  on  and  argument  and  appeal 
alike  failed  to  move  Miss  Mellor  from  her  position, 
a  paralysis  of  helplessness  seized  Norah  in  its  grip. 
She  knew  that  in  the  end  she  would  be  compelled 
to  consent,  for  of  two  horrifying  alternatives  it 


312  What  a  Man  Wills 

seemed  the  least  to  dare  a  certain  amount  of  buffet- 
ing for  herself,  rather  than  allow  another  woman 
to  run  the  risk  of  serious,  even  fatal,  consequences. 
At  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  then,  behold  a 
trembling  and  faint-hearted  Number  Nine  seated 
at  the  end  of  one  of  the  rows  of  stalls  at  the  Albert 
Hall,  the  faithful  Danvers  by  her  side,  listening 
with  all  her  ears,  not  to  the  eloquence  of  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  but  to  the  shrill 
interruptions  from  feminine  tongues  which  punc- 
tuated his  utterances.  Numbers  One  and  Two 
had  been  escorted  from  the  gallery  by  indulgent, 
if  somewhat  contemptuous,  stewards.  Numbers 
Four  and  Five  had  received  less  consideration; 
Number  Six  had  been  undeniably  hustled;  Num- 
ber Seven  had  squealed  aloud.  Norah  realized 
with  a  dread  sinking  of  the  heart  that  the  temper 
of  the  meeting  was  rising,  and  that  each  fresh 
disturber  of  the  peace  would  receive  less  consider- 
ation. Only  one  more,  and  then.  .  .  .  The 
great  building  whirled  before  her  eyes,  the  faces 
on  the  platform  became  faint  and  blurred,  her 
heart  pounded  so  loudly  that  it  seemed  impossible 
that  her  neighbours  should  not  hear  its  thuds. 
She  turned  her  head  to  look  at  the  nearest  door 
and  examine  the  faces  of  the  group  of  stewards 
waiting  in  readiness  at  its  portal.  Were  they 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  313 

very  big,  very  fierce,  very  formidable?  Which  of 
the  number  would  be  the  first  to  tear  her  from  her 
seat?  Her  pretty  face  was  blanched  and  drawn 
beneath  her  flower- wreathed  hat;  one  of  the 
stewards  meeting  her  glance  moved  forward  to  her 
side  with  a  stifled  exclamation  of  dismay.  He 
bent  low  over  her,  whispering  in  her  ear: 

"Miss  Boyce!  what  are  you  doing  here?  Are 
you  alone?  You  ought  not  to  be  here  without  a 
man  to  look  after  you.  It  is  getting  too  noisy — 
too  excited.  If  there  are  any  more  interruptions 
things  will  become  dangerous.  Let  me  take  you 
out  quietly,  while  there  is  time " 

John  Baker,  by  all  that  was  confounding  and 
terrible!  John,  the  last  man  on  earth  whom  she 
would  have  wished  to  witness  her  humiliation! 
John,  who  had  called  her  a  "modest,  old-fashioned 
girl.".  .  .  It  was  the  last  straw  to  poor 
Norah's  composure;  her  fluttering  heart  gave  one 
sickening  leap,  and  then  appeared  to  stop  alto- 
gether; she  held  out  her  hands  with  a  feeble, 
despairing  gesture,  and  collapsed  in  a  limp  little 
heap  in  John  Baker's  arms. 

When  Norah  came  back  to  consciousness  she 
was  lying  on  a  form  in  a  bare,  boarded  room,  and 
John  was  engaged  in  sprinkling  water  from  a  water- 


314  What  a  Man  Wills 

jug  over  the  front  of  her  best  silk  blouse.  She 
sat  up  hastily,  brushed  the  hair  from  her  forehead, 
and  stared  around  with  bewildered  eyes.  A  roar 
of  applause  from  the  great  hall  broke  the  silence, 
and  brought  back  struggling  remembrance. 

"Did  you — did  you  turn  me  out?" 

"I  carried  you  out!  You  fainted,  and  I 
brought  you  in  here.  It  was  no  wonder;  you  were 
not  accustomed  to  such  sights.  Did  you  imagine 
in  your  faintness  that  you  had  been  turned  out 
like  those  other  screaming  women,  you  poor  little 
frightened  girl?"  asked  John's  big  voice  in  its 
most  caressing  tones. 

Norah  shivered  with  dismay. 

"I  was — I  am — I  mean  I  should  have  been,  if 
I  had  stayed  five  minutes  longer!  I'm  Number 
Nine!"  she  cried;  and  then  seeing  John's  stare  of 
stupefied  dismay,  promptly  threw  up  her  hands 
to  her  face,  and  burst  into  weak-minded  tears. 

"Oh — oh!  What  will  you  think  of  me — what 
will  you  say!  ...  I  was  obliged  to  earn  some 
money — and  half  a  crown  a  day  was  not  enough, — 
Mrs.  Baker  gives  me  half  a  crown.  I — I  go  to 
another  lady  in  the  afternoons,  and  she  is  a 
Suffragette.  She  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  very 
patient,  because  I'm  stupid,  and  can't  understand, 
and — and  I  don't  seem  to  care!  I  don't  want 


The  Girl  Who  Wished  for  Work  315 

a  vote,  but  she  was  Number  Nine  to-night,  and 
she  is  ill — her  throat  is  very  bad,  she  might  be 
dangerously  ill  if  she  came  out.  She  would  only 
stay  at  home  if  I  promised  to  take  her  place,  and, 
she  has  been  very  kind.  ...  I  promised,  and 
now  I've  failed.  I  was  too  terribly  frightened. 
And  then  I  saw  your  face.  .  v  .  Oh,  what  do 
you  think  of  me?" 

But  John  Baker  refused  to  give  any  expression 
of  opinion.  All  he  said  was: 

"Half  a  crown  a  day!  She  offered  you  that! 
Oh,  my  poor  little  girl!"  And  his  voice  was  so 
low  and  tender  that  at  the  sound  of  it  Norah 
sobbed  afresh. 

"Don't  cry.  Put  on  your  hat.  I  will  take 
you  into  the  air,  and  drive  you  home  in  a  taxi. 
You  will  feel  better  in  the  air, "  said  John  quietly. 

He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  escorted  her  into  the 
corridor,  and  as  they  walked  along,  another  roar 
sounded  from  within  the  precincts  of  the  hall,  and 
through  an  open  doorway  shot  a  dishevelled 
female  form,  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  half  a 
dozen  stewards.  Danvers  herself!  The  faithful 
Danvers,  who,  seeing  the  collapse  of  her  mistress* 
proxy,  had  gallantly  taken  upon  herself  the  duties 
of  Number  Nine.  Norah  shuddered,  and  grasped 
more  tightly  John's  protecting  arm. 


316  What  a  Man  Wills 

"Oh,  what  must  you  think  of  me?"  she  de- 
manded once  more ;  and  John,  looking  down  at  her 
as  they  reached  the  cool  air  of  the  street,  replied 
sturdily : 

"I  think  that  no  woman  can  serve  two  masters. 
Can't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  take  one 
instead?" 


XI 


FIFTEEN  years  had  come  and  gone.  The  men 
and  women  who  had  sat  round  the  fire  on  that 
memorable  New  Year's  Eve  in  Mrs.  Ingram's 
hospitable  country  manor,,  had  left  youth  be- 
hind, and  entered  upon  the  strenuous  term  of 
middle  age,  while  their  host  and  hostess  had 
reached  a  stage  still  further  on  the  downward 
path,  and  frankly  ranged  themselves  among  the 
old. 

Fifteen  years  ago !  And  now  once  more  the  end 
of  the  year  was  approaching,  and  Mr.  Ingram  and 
his  wife  were  discussing  their  plans  for  the  festive 
season.  It  was  a  very  frail  woman  who  lay  back 
against  the  cushions  of  her  chair,  and  to  her  hus- 
band all  outside  considerations  were  as  naught 
compared  with  the  necessity  of  screening  her 
from  undue  exertion. 

"Forget  that  it  is  Christmas  time,  that's  the 
best  thing  you  can  do!  All  your  life  you  have 

317 


3i 8  What  a  Man  Wills 

worked  and  schemed  to  give  other  people  pleasure, 
now  you  must  take  it  easy,  and  let  them  have  a 
turn  for  a  change.  No  Christmas  presents,  no 
village  treats,  no  house-party  over  the  New  Year. 
You  and  I  will  have  a  quiet  resting  time,  and  think 
of  nobody  but  ourselves." 

His  wife  smiled,  her  fine,  delicate  smile,  and 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  meet  his. 

"Foolish  man!"  she  said  softly.  "What  folly 
you  do  talk!  The  Christmas  presents  are  ready, 
dear.  I  begin  collecting  them  each  January,  as 
soon  as  the  last  batch  is  out  of  the  way,  and  it 
would  break  my  heart  to  disappoint  the  villagers 
of  their  treat;  but  I'll  be  very  good,  and  leave  the 
whole  of  the  arrangements  to  the  vicar.  That's 
a  concession  made  entirely  to  please  you.  I  want 
to  please  you,  because  as  regards  the  house- 
party  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  give  in  to  me !  I'd 
been  planning  a  very  special  gathering  for  this 
year.  Please,  dear,  don't  say  no!  It  would  be 
such  a  great  interest.  I  want  to  ask  all  the  mem- 
bers of  that  Heart's  Desire  party  of  fifteen  years 
ago — all  that  are  left,  that's  to  say,  and  sit  over 
the  fire  together  as  we  did  then,  for  the  first  hour 
of  the  New  Year,  and  talk  over  our  different  expe- 
riences. I  have  thought  of  it  for  the  last  three  or 
four  years,  but  something  has  always  come  in  the 


The  After  Years  319 

way,  and  now — now  I  would  rather  not  postpone 
it  again." 

Her  husband  knew  the  meaning  of  that  unwill- 
ingness. She  was  thinking  that  she  might  not 
live  to  see  another  New  Year,  and  the  knowledge 
was  enough  to  stifle  any  objections  which  he 
might  have  made. 

"You  shall  do  as  you  choose,  dearest,"  he  said 
softly.  "I  ask  only  that  you  should  spare  your- 
self. You  must  spend  the  mornings  in  your  own 
room,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  enjoy  your 
guests  for  the  rest  of  the  day. "  He  was  silent  for 
a  few  minutes,  gazing  into  the  heart  of  the  fire. 
"It  is  one  thing  to  wish,"  he  said  at  last,  "and 
another  to  confess  what  has  really  happened.  I 
wonder  if  they  will  confess!" 

"Probably— not!"  Mrs.  Ingram  said.  "We 
may  be  sure  of  one  thing  at  least,  that  the 
happenings  which  went  deepest  will  never  be 
put  into  words.  All  the  same  we  shall  know.  It 
is  not  only  by  speech  that  the  heart  tells  its 
secrets,  Hubert!" 

"But  the  ordinary  man  judges  only  by  his  ears. 
His  eyes  are  holden  that  he  cannot  see. " 

"Ah,  well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Ingram  softly,  "there's 
an  instinct  that  is  truer  than  sight!" 

Her  husband  pressed  her  hand,  but  did  not 


320  What  a  Man  Wills 

answer.  He  knew  well  that  his  wife  possessed  a 
wonderful  heart-vision  which  could  pierce  be- 
neath the  deceptions  of  surface  appearance,  down 
to  the  truth  beneath;  but  this  was  a  plane  to 
which  he  could  not  follow;  and  in  truth  he  could 
not  trust  himself  to  discuss  it.  This  dearly  loved 
wife  had  always  been  of  an  unusual  exalted  char- 
acter, and  with  the  decline  of  bodily  health, 
she  seemed  to  cast  from  her  one  by  one  the 
hindering  frailties  of  the  flesh,  and  to  become 
ever  more  spiritual  and  crystalline.  He  rev- 
erenced, he  worshipped,  but — he  feared!  A 
spirit  so  fine  seemed  out  of  place  on  this  gross 
earth. 

But,  thank  God !  the  old  gaiety  was  not  dead, 
and  her  laugh  rang  clear  as  ever  as  a  few  minutes 
later  he  brought  a  writing-table  to  her  side,  and 
they  embarked  upon  the  work  of  tracing  old  friends 
under  new  conditions. 

Mr.  Ingram  would  have  been  hard  put  to  it  to 
remember  the  names  alone  of  all  who  had  been 
present  on  the  historic  occasion,  but  his  wife's 
diary  supplied  an  account  not  only  of  these,  but 
of  manners  and  appearance,  with  a  surprisingly 
verbatim  record  of  what  each  person  had  said.  She 
had  the  memory  which  records  words,  and  now 
as  she  read  over  one  pronouncement  after  another, 


The  After  Years  321 

something  of  her  own  keenness  entered  into  her 
husband's  manner. 

"By  jove,  you  have  a  memory!  It  all  comes 
back  as  I  hear  you  reading — the  very  words — the 
very  expressions.  I  can  see  Claudia  sitting  in  that 
chair,  telling  us  about  the  rich  cousin  who  sent  her 
cast-off  clothes,  and  looking  so  wonderfully  pretty 
and  sparkling.  Ah,  poor  Claudia!  Well — one  is 
bound  to  come  up  against  tragedy,  if  one  follows 
the  happenings  of  nine  lives  for  fifteen  years. 
All  things  considered,  I  think  we  have  less  of  it 
than  might  have  been  expected.  Who  comes  next 
on  the  list?  Norah  Boyce,  eh?  We  shan't  have 
Norah,  since  that  clever  husband  of  hers  has  got 
this  appointment  in  Canada ;  but  we  know  at  least 
that  things  go  well  with  her.  Nice  little  Norah! 
She  deserved  her  good  luck.  And  then  comes 
Lilith  Wastneys.  No  need  to  look  up  her  ad- 
dress, eh?  Care  of  the  Rt.  Hon.  Hereward 
Lowther,  would  reach  her  the  world  over. 
And  John  Harely  Malham!  These  friends  of 
yours  have  developed  into  very  great  person- 
ages, dear!  Do  you  think  they  will  care  to  ac- 
cept invitations  from  simple  country  dwellers  like 
ourselves?" 

"I  shall  send  them  invitations,  and  I  think  they 
will  come,"  Mrs.  Ingram  said  quietly.  People 


322  What  a  Man  Wills 

had  a  way  of  doing  what  she  wished,  which  seemed 
the  more  extraordinary  as  she  never  argued  nor 
persuaded.  "Those  two  are  our  only  notables; 
the  others  are  leading  quite  ordinary  lives,  so 
ordinary  that  we  shall  have  to  resort  to  the 
directory  to  trace  one  or  two.  I  have  not  heard 
of  Francis  Manning  for  years. " 

"Manning,  Manning!  Which  was  Manning? 
The  man  who  was  in  such  a  dickens  of  a  hurry  to 
get  himself  into  trouble?" 

"No,  that  was  Val  Lessing.  Val  is  quite  a 
prosperous  City  man  now.  He  sends  me  a  Christ- 
mas card  every  year.  Francis  Manning  was  the 
big,  lazy  creature  who  couldn't  think  of  anything 
he  wanted  so  much  as  to  be  let  alone,  to  jog  along 
in  comfort.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him  since 
he  wrote  years  ago  to  tell  me  of  his  marriage.  I 
sent  him  a  present." 

"I'll  bet  you  did!"  commented  her  husband, 
laughing.  "Oh,  well,  we  can  easily  track  Mr. 
Manning.  Then  there  comes  Juliet!  There's 
no  difficulty  about  Juliet.  Let  me  see!  What 
was  it  that  Juliet  wished  for?" 

"Adventure!"  Mrs.  Ingram  said,  and  they  both 
smiled. 

" So  Juliet  wished  for  adventure,  did  she?  Well! 
Well!"  cried  Mr.  Ingram  nodding.  "How  many 


The  After  Years  323 

inches  should  you  say  she  measures  round  the 
waist  at  the  present  moment?" 

But  at  this  his  wife  protested  strongly. 

"Too  bad!  Too  bad!  Why  should  the  mere 
fact  of  being  stout  make  it  seem  ridiculous  for  a 
woman  to  have  a  share  in  romance  or  excitement? 
I'm  not  going  to  allow  you  to  laugh  at  Juliet. 
Wait  at  least  until  you  have  heard  what  she  has 
to  say.  Now  we  come  to  the  last  on  the  list 
— Rupert  Dempster,  Rupert  who  wished  for 
love." 

"I  remember,"  said  her  husband  shortly. 
Many  things  that  had  happened  on  that  evening 
had  faded  from  memory,  but  the  shock  occa- 
sioned by  Rupert's  unexpected  confession  had 
impressed  it  on  his  mind.  In  imagination  he 
could  see  the  firelight  playing  upon  the  tired 
face,  and  hear  the  strong,  quiet  tone  speak- 
ing of  his  ideal  love,  the  primal,  overmastering 
affinity  of  mind  for  mind,  soul  for  soul,  body 
for  body.  And  it  was  this  Rupert  Dempster 
who  had  married  a  woman  admittedly  insane! 
Rumour  said  that  she  had  to  a  great  extent 
regained  her  reason,  but  still  .  .  .  Mr.  Ingram 
registered  a  hope  that  Dempster  and  his  wife 
would  not  accept  his  wife's  invitation  for  New 
Year's  Eve! 


324  What  a  Man  Wills 

It  was  New  Year's  Eve,  and  throughout  the 
afternoon  one  batch  of  visitors  after  another 
drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  Manor.  Some  had 
travelled  by  train,  some  by  motor,  and  each  guest 
in  turn  was  received  by  the  hostess,  welcomed  with 
her  inimitable  charm,  and  escorted  to  the  rooms 
apportioned  to  them,  where  tea  was  served  instead 
of  in  the  hall  downstairs,  as  was  the  usual  custom 
in  the  household.  It  did  not  satisfy  Mrs.  Ingram's 
dramatic  sense  that  her  guests  should  meet  one 
by  one;  she  preferred  to  postpone  the  moment 
until  they  met  en  masse  round  the  dinner  table 
later  on. 

Six  invitations  had  been  sent  out,  and  in  due 
time  six  replies  came  back.  Some  were  affection- 
ate in  tone,  others  politely  formal,  some  implied 
a  willingness  to  stay  as  long  as  they  should  be 
asked;  others  regretted  that  one  day  only  could 
be  spared ;  but  so  far  as  the  anniversary  itself  was 
concerned,  each  of  the  six  notes  brought  the  accept- 
ance which  Mrs.  Ingram  had  so  confidently 
expected.  By  six  o'clock  that  evening  six  of  the 
surviving  members  of  the  original  party  were  once 
more  gathered  together  beneath  the  roof  of  the 
Manor. 

It  was  just  eight  o'clock  when  the  sound  of  the 
gong  pealed  through  the  house,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


The  After  Years  325 

Ingram  took  their  stand  in  the  great  hall,  to 
watch  the  procession  of  their  guests  down  the 
stairway. 

First  of  all  came  a  tall  man,  muscular  and 
healthy,  a  typical  country  squire,  the  sunburn  of 
his  skin  showing  in  marked  contract  to  his  white 
shirt  and  waistcoat.  A  handsome  man,  with  an 
air  of  agreeable  content,  and  beside  him  a  stout 
matron,  her  large  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  her 
dress  a  handsome  creation  of  the  year  before  last. 

Behind  her,  creeping  close  to  the  wall,  a  plain, 
insignificant  woman  trailed  a  robe  of  magnificent 
gold  brocade,  while  the  glitter  of  diamonds  on  neck 
and  head  lent  an  additional  wanness  to  the  pinched 
face.  This  was  the  Lady  Anne  Malham,  and  by 
her  side  walked  the  husband  whose  success  in  life 
had  made  him  a  world-known  figure.  The  large 
head,  and  hawk-like  features  had  been  so  often 
represented  in  the  Press  that  the  public  recognized 
him  at  a  glance,  but  few  of  those  who  studied  the 
weary  face  realized  that  this  was  a  man  who  had 
not  yet  seen  his  forty-fifth  year.  There  was  no 
lingering  trace  of  youth  on  the  face  of  John 
Malham,  millionaire! 

Behind  the  Malhams  came  yet  another  couple: 
the  woman's  left  hand  rested  lightly  on  the  banister, 
while  on  the  inner  side  of  the  stairway,  her  husband 


326  What  a  Man  Wills 

slipped  his  arm  through  hers,  as  though  to  afford 
a  double  security  to  her  descent.  Slim,  ethereally 
transparent,  her  white  shoulders  rising  above  a 
dress  of  misty  black,  a  carmine  flush  staining  the 
soft  oval  of  her  cheeks,  Eve  Dempster  appeared 
more  like  a  beautiful  wraith  than  a  woman  of 
flesh  and  blood.  The  years  had  brought  to  her 
none  of  the  ordinary  signs  of  age ;  as  though  loath 
to  mar  so  exquisite  a  creature,  they  had  passed 
by,  leaving  behind  nothing  but  an  air  of  additional 
transparence  and  fragility  to  mark  their  course. 
Rupert,  on  the  contrary,  looked  more  than  his  age. 
His  face  was  lined  as  by  a  ceaseless  anxiety,  but 
in  his  eyes  there  was  a  great  content. 

Eve  Dempster's  long,  misty  train  floated  so  far 
behind  as  to  necessitate  a  gap  in  the  descent  of  the 
guests.  The  gap,  and  the  isolated  position  which 
she  occupied  as  the  first  of  the  guests  to  descend 
in  single  file,  threw  into  greater  prominence  the 
stolid,  ungainly  figure  of  Mrs.  Francis  Manning, 
clad  in  a  satin  gown  of  a  violent  shade  of  blue.  Her 
light  hair  was  elaborately  waved  and  dressed  in 
the  latest  eccentricity  of  the  day;  tight  white  kid 
gloves  came  to  an  end  half-way  up  her  reddened 
arms.  She  looked  what  she  was,  a  middle-class 
matron  of  the  suburbs,  divided  between  pride  and 
embarrassment  in  her  present  position.  Her  hus- 


The  After  Years  327 

band  followed  close  behind,  large,  heavily  built, 
with  clean-shaven  face,  patient,  saddened,  strik- 
ingly controlled.  Mrs.  Ingram,  watching  from 
the  hall  beneath,  felt  a  smarting  of  the  eyes  as 
she  looked  at  that  face,  and  remembered  the  torpid 
complacence  of  the  days  that  were  gone! 

The  next  couple  were  in  appearance  perhaps  the 
most  normal  of  any.  A  man  too  alert  and  supple 
to  be  yet  classed  as  middle-aged,  a  pretty,  soft- 
eyed  woman,  with  humorous  lips,  and  a  graceful 
head  poised  at  an  angle  which  suggested  an  agree- 
able touch  of  coquetry;  a  woman  whose  spirit 
remained  young;  a  woman  who  retained  the  power 
to  charm,  though  the  dreaded  forty  hovered  but 
a  few  years  ahead. 

And  then,  last  of  all,  sweeping  downwards  with 
the  indefinable  air  of  those  accustomed  to  high 
places,  came  the  guests  of  honour,  the  Rt.  Hon. 
Hereward  Lowther,  and  Lilith,  his  wife.  The  Min- 
ister was  smiling,  and  the  smile  showed  him  at  his 
best.  A  physiognomist  would  have  read  in  his 
face  a  curious  mingling  of  weakness  and  strength 
but  the  old  shadow  was  replaced  by  a  radiant 
complacence,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  obvious 
though  perfectly  good-natured  condescension  in 
his  bearing  as  he  surveyed  the  group  in  the  hall. 
He  was  ready  to  be  all  that  was  agreeable  to  his 


328  What  a  Man  Wills 

wife's  old  friends,  but  he  expected  that  in  their  turn 
they  would  appreciate  the  honour  paid  by  his 
presence. 

As  for  Lilith  herself,  a  murmur  of  incredulity 
arose  from  the  watchers  as  she  stepped  into  sight, 
so  extraordinarily  like  the  Lilith  of  old  did  she 
appear.  The  pale  hair  was  twisted  round  the 
head  in  identically  the  same  fashion  as  of  yore, 
the  white  satin  dress,  with  the  swathing  of  tulle 
round  the  shoulders,  followed  the  same  natural 
lines.  There  was  no  glitter  of  gems,  but  Val 
Lessing  noticed  with  a  thrill  of  remembrance  that 
round  her  throat  there  were  ropes  of  pearls, — 
lustrous,  shimmering  pearls,  for  which  a  man  might 
venture  his  life.  In  the  shaded  light  of  the  lamps 
there  were  no  lines  to  be  seen  on  the  quiet  face. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  believe  that  fifteen  long 
years  had  passed  by  since  that  white-robed  figure 
had  last  descended  that  staircase! 

A  few  moments  of  merry  greetings  and  laughter, 
of  introductions  by  host  and  hostess,  and  then  the 
house-party  once  more  formed  into  pairs,  filed 
into  the  dining-room,  and  took  their  places 
round  the  festive  board. 

It  was  a  long  and  elaborate  meal  which  followed, 
and  in  the  drawing-room  afterwards  the  guests 
found  a  delightful  entertainment  provided  for  their 


The  After  Years  329 

benefit.  The  days  were  over  when  dancing  ap- 
pealed as  an  ideal  manner  of  passing  the  time; 
to-night  the  guests  sat  still  and  were  amused  by 
others,  and  as  the  hour  of  twelve  drew  nigh, 
watched  the  performance  of  an  exquisite  little 
masque  of  the  seasons,  in  which  the  old  year  and 
the  new  played  the  leading  characters. 

More  than  one  person  suspected  the  author- 
ship of  that  masque,  and  recognized  another 
instance  of  Mrs.  Ingram's  generalship,  in  tuning 
the  minds  of  the  hearers  to  a  desired  note,  before 
the  moment  of  the  conference  arrived. 

They  stood  together  in  the  great  hall,  hand  in 
hand,  waiting  for  the  striking  of  the  hour  from  the 
church  tower,  men  and  women,  where  before  had 
stood  youths  and  maidens;  together,  as  the  last 
note  died  away,  they  turned  back  to  the  fire,  and 
seated  themselves  in  the  circling  chairs,  but  when 
they  were  all  seated  there  were  still  two  chairs 
which  remained  vacant.  To  the  majority  of  the 
company  the  presence  of  these  chairs  appeared 
the  most  meaningless  of  incidents ;  two  only  of  the 
number  divined  their  significance, — Rupert  Demp- 
ster and  the  Squire's  stout,  prosaic-looking  wife. 
As  usual  it  was  the  woman  who  put  her  thoughts 
into  words: 

"Ah,  poor  Claudia!  poor  Meriel!"  she  sighed 


330  What  a  Man  Wills 

softly.  "How  little  we  thought  that  they  would 
be  absent  when  we  met  again!  And  such  tragic 
fates.  .  .  .  That  beautiful  Claudia!  Can  you 
remember  how  she  sat  that  night,  making  her 
naughty,  audacious  speeches,  and  looking  so  sweet 
and  bewitching  all  the  time  that  one  could  not 
believe  that  she  meant  half  she  said.  But  she 
did,  or  how  could  she  have  married  that  man? 
Meriel  was  staying  with  her,  at  the  time  that  she 
first — found  out!  She  persuaded  her  to  see  the 
specialist.  Claudia  dared  not  tell  her  husband. 
To  the  very  last  she  braved  it  out.  One  would  not 
have  expected  her  to  have  such  courage!  And 
when  he  did  know,  he  went  straight  away  and 
never  saw  her  again.  She  would  see  no  one. 
She  lived  alone  with  her  nurses  until  the  end. 
Poor  Claudia!  She  wished  for  great  riches,  and 

she  got  them,  but " 

"Found  bitterness  to  her  soul!  Yes.  That 
is  the  reward  of  seeking  the  worthless  thing," 
Mrs.  Ingram  said  quietly.  "Claudia  had  a  few 
years  given  to  her  to  taste  the  power  of  money, 
and  a  few  years  more  to  test  its  helplessness.  She 
learned  many  lessons,  poor  child,  in  that  hidden 
room.  I  sent  for  one  of  her  nurses  after  she  died. 
The  woman  cried  bitterly  when  she  spoke  of  her. 
She  said  she  had  never  had  a  patient  who  was  more 


The  After  Years  331 

thoughtful  and  considerate.  I  was  thankful 
to  know  that  the  poor  child  had  had  someone 
with  her  who  really  loved  and  sympathized. " 

There  was  a  tense  silence.  The  pathos  of 
Claudia's  fate  lay  heavy  upon  those  who  remem- 
bered her  in  the  flush  of  her  youthful  triumph, 
and  with  that  other  name,  too,  was  the  connection 
of  tragedy. 

"And  Meriel!  Meriel  wished  for  happiness," 
Francis  Manning  said  slowly.  "She  was  ship- 
wrecked, wasn't  she,  when  she  was  sailing  to 
India  with  some  friends?" 

"With  Geoffrey  Sterne  and  his  wife,"  Val  Less- 
ing  told  him.  "My  sister  kept  up  a  correspond- 
ence with  her  for  some  years,  and  I  heard  from  her. 
They  had  both  been  at  school  with  Mrs.  Sterne. 
She  appeared  to  lose  her  health  after  the  marriage, 
but  while  Meriel  was  paying  her  first  visit  it  was 
discovered  that  the  real  trouble  was — drink! 
There's  no  harm  speaking  of  it  now,  for  later  on 
it  became  public  property,  but  at  the  time  they 
hoped  for  a  cure,  and  the  great  object  was  to  let 
no  one  suspect.  She  was  fond  of  Meriel  and 
begged  her  to  stay  on,  in  the  place  of  a  hired  nurse, 
and  Meriel  was  a  lonely  creature.  She  told  my 
sister  that  she  was  thankful  to  find  someone  who 
needed  her.  But  she  had  a  hard  time.  All  the 


332  What  a  Man  Wills 

trouble,  and  isolation,  and  patience,  and — nasti- 
ness,  for  nothing!  It  was  a  hopeless  case,  and 
grew  steadily  worse  and  worse.  Meriel  left  off 
writing  during  that  time,  but  my  sister  said  that 
even  before  that  her  letters  had  grown  awfully 
sad.  .  .  .  Then  they  sailed  for  India,  I  suppose 
to  try  what  the  change  would  do,  and  there  was  a 
collision.  Some  of  the  passengers  got  away  in 
boats  and  were  saved — Meriel  refused  to  leave. 
Some  of  the  passengers  told  how  they  had  seen 
Sterne  trying  to  persuade  her;  but  she  would  not 
leave." 

There  was  another  silence.  With  one  accord 
the  guests  looked  at  Mrs.  Ingram,  and  she 
recognized  the  meaning  of  that  look,  shook 
her  head,  and  held  out  her  hands  with  a  gesture 
of  helplessness. 

"You  are  thinking  that  my  theory  has  failed, 
and  that  Meriel  found  none  of  the  happiness  for 
which  she  longed.  Yes!  it  sounds  like  it.  Her 
youth  spent  in  isolation,  with  a  drunken  woman  as 
companion,  and  the  result  of  it  all — failure!  I 
don't  deny  it,  dear  people.  I  don't  argue.  On 
the  surface  it's  a  pitiful  tale,  but  we  know  only 
the  surface.  No  one  can  read  the  secrets  of 
Meriel's  heart.  She  was  happy  in  one  thing,  at 
least — that  the  time  of  her  loneliness  was  short, 


The  After  Years  333 

and  I  think  there  are  none  among  you  who  will 
deny  that  Meriel  is  happy  now.  Whatever  may 
be  your  creeds,  you  will  agree  that  such  brave, 
unselfish  giving  is  a  garnering  of  wealth  for  the 
life  that  is  to  come.  We  may  be  satisfied  that 
Meriel  has  come  into  her  kingdom!"  She  paused 
just  for  a  moment,  then  with  a  challenging  smile 
turned  towards  Val  Lessing,  who  sat  on  her  right. 
The  conversation  had  taken  a  pensive  turn,  and 
with  the  generalship  of  a  born  hostess  she  was  ready 
to  switch  it  back  into  a  livelier  channel.  Among 
all  the  couples  who  were  present  none  looked  more 
absolutely  sane  and  satisfied  than  Val  and  his 
wife.  Val  could  obviously  be  trusted  to  give  a 
cheerful  report. 

"Well,  Val,  what  have  you  to  tell  us?  Was  fate 
kind  or  unkind  enough  to  lead  you  through  any 
perilous  seas  before  you  reached  your  present 
very  sunshiny  haven?" 

Val  bent  his  head  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment.  There  was  a  tinge  of  embarrass- 
ment on  his  face;  he  glanced  across  the  hearth 
at  his  wife,  and  as  quickly  averted  his  eyes. 

"W— e— 11!  he  said  slowly,  "I  think  I  may 
say  that  it  was!  I  had  an  experience  of  er — what 
appeared  at  the  time  to  be  a  very — er — acute 
danger.  It  lasted  for  some  four  or  five  weeks,  and 


334  What  a  Man  Wills 

then  was — er — relieved  in  a  somewhat  remarkable 
manner.  You  will  excuse  the  details.  I  have 
only  to  confess  that  the  experience  taught  me  the 
most  useful  lesson  of  my  life — to  appreciate 
the  blessings  of  safety!  I  don't  deny  that  in  the 
course  of  that  experience  there  were  moments  of 
excitement  which  I  intensely  enjoyed,  but  on  the 
whole  I  discovered  that  it  is  much  more  agreeable 
to  live  in  peace."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
into  his  eyes  there  leaped  a  delightful  smile.  "I 
may  add,"  he  said  dryly,  "that  my  wife  has  re- 
lieved me  of  one  great  dread.  She  is  good  enough 
to  provide  a  spice  of  uncertainty,  which  makes  it 
impossible  that  I  shall  ever  have  to  complain  of 
monotony  in  life!" 

Everyone  looked  at  Delia,  and  Delia  flicked  her 
long  eyelashes,  and  stared  into  space  with  an 
expression  of  angelic  innocence.  But  a  dimple 
dipped  in  her  cheek.  Delia  at  thirty-eight  was 
still  a  minx.  There  was  more  than  one  man  in 
the  room  who  envied  Lessing  the  possession  of  his 
delightful  wife! 

The  general  laugh  subsided,  and  Mrs.  Ingram 
turned  to  the  Squire's  wife. 

"So  much  for  Danger!"  she  said  smiling. 
"Now,  Juliet,  what  have  you  to  report  of  Ad- 
venture? Your  friends  will  remember  how  im- 


The  After  Years  335 

patiently  you  were  straining  at  your  bonds.  Has 
the  adventure  really  come  along?" 

More  than  one  of  the  listeners  felt  it  an  effort 
at  that  moment  to  repress  a  smile,  so  exceedingly 
unadventurous  was  the  appearance  of  the  portly 
dame.  Perhaps  she  felt  the  covert  amusement, 
for  there  was  a  note  of  defiance  in  her  voice  as  she 
took  up  the  challenge. 

"Yes,  it  did,"  she  said  emphatically.  "It 
most  certainly  did,  and  I  have  to  thank  you,  dear 
Mrs.  Ingram,  for  making  me — er — receptive — so 
that  when  the  opportunity  arose,  I  was  ready  to 
take  it.  Before  our  talk  here  fifteen  years  ago, 
I  had  drifted  into  the  belief  that  nothing  adventur- 
ous or  interesting  could  ever  happen  to  me,  and 
that  I  must  just  resign  myself  to  be  bored.  After 
that  I  changed  my  way  of  thinking,  and  expected 
the  chance  to  come.  I  am  like  Mr.  Lessing — 
I  prefer  not  to  give  you  any  details,  but  I  think 
I  am  quite  safe  in  saying  that  no  other  woman 
ever  met  her  husband  in  the  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstances under  which  I  met  mine.  It  was  very 
adventurous  indeed,  and  we  were  engaged — oh, 
at  once,  and  married  in  a  month,  and  after  my 
husband's  service  abroad  we  settled  down  in  the 
dear  old  house  where  we  are  still  living  with  our 
six  children."  She  paused,  and  looked  around  with 


336  What  a  Man  Wills 

a  warning  air.  "  Please  don't  murmur  sympathet- 
ically! Whenever  I  say  'six,'  people  always 
murmur  sympathetically,  and  it's  so  misplaced. 
It's  just  what  we  wanted — lots  of  little  heads 
round  the  table.  Five  sturdy  boys,  and  one  little 
girl." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  you  can't  have  much  adven- 
ture now!"  It  was  Mrs.  Francis  Manning  who 
spoke,  the  faint  Cockney  twang  of  her  voice 
sounding  discordantly  in  contrast  to  the  cultured 
tones  of  her  companions.  "Children  are  such  a 
tie.  We  have  four,  and  I  never  seem  to  have  a 
free  hour.  And  to  live  in  the  country,  too.  It's 
a  good  thing  you  had  some  adventure  when  you 
were  young,  for  there's  no  chance  of  it  now." 

"I  deny  it!"  cried  Juliet,  hotly.  "I  deny  it. 
Can  anything  in  the  world  be  more  adventurous 
than  to  start  a  new  home,  and  a  new  generation, 
to  have  six  young  lives  entrusted  to  one  to  train 
for  the  world's  service?  Think  what  those  six 
lives  may  mean,  multiplying  into  fresh  lives, 
spreading  influence  wherever  they  go!  There  are 
no  such  adventures  in  life,  as  marriage  and  parent- 
ship,  if  one  can  only  see  them  in  the  right  light, 
and  keep  on  seeing .  .  .  . "  She  gave  a  little 
laugh,  half  shy,  half  apologetic,  a  trifle  ashamed 
of  her  own  intensity.  "Ah,  well!  it's  adventur- 


The  After  Years  337 

ous  enough  to  have  a  pack  of  boys  who  are  learn- 
ing to  ride,  learning  to  shoot,  trying  to  copy 
everything  that  their  father  can  do  to-day, 
hobbling  home  almost  every  day  of  the  week  with 
cuts  and  bruises,  and  breaks  and  sprains.  I  have 
all  the  adventure  that  I  need,  and, — what  shall  I 
say?  Only  this,  that  I  enjoy  it  even  more  than  I 
expected!" 

She  stopped,  panting,  and  her  husband  smiled 
at  her  across  the  room,  and  silently  clapped  his 
hands.  "I  beg  to  second  the  motion!"  he  said 
gravely,  and  there  was  a  general  stir  of  laughter. 
It  was  pleasant  to  meet  a  couple  of  the  good  old- 
fashioned  type  which  was  yearly  becoming  more 
rare.  Every  person  in  the  room  felt  a  sincere 
respect  for  Captain  and  Mrs.  Antony  Maplestone. 

"Well,  of  course — if  you  put  it  like  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Manning  doubtfully,  "I'm  sure  I've  always 
done  my  best  to  be  a  good  mother,  and  the  girls 
go  to  school  now,  which  makes  it  easier,  but  with 
the  boy  being  blind — well,  naturally,  it's  a  tie! 
My  husband  tells  me  he  wished  for  Comfort,  and 
there's  no  doubt  but  he's  got  it.  We're  not  rich, 
of  course,  but  comfortable,  quite  comfortable. 
He's  only  to  express  a  wish,  and  it's  there  for  him, 
and  I  keep  a  first-rate  cook.  But  as  I  said  to  him 
only  to-day,  he  doesn't  give  himself  a  chance. 


338  What  a  Man  Wills 

Always  slaving  and  worrying  for  someone  else, 
particularly  for  the  boy,  even  now  when  he  is 
getting  quite  big,  and  able  to  do  for  himself.  It's 
wonderful  how  clever  blind  people  become!  Of 
course  we  all  want  to  be  helpful,  but,  as  I  say, 
there  is  a  medium  course,  and  everyone  notices 
how  Frank  has  altered  these  last  years.  If  you 
remember  he  used  to  be  quite  stout " 

"Please,  Marion!  Spare  my  blushes.  I  am 
perfectly  well,  and  my  greatest  pleasure  is  look- 
ing after  the  boy."  Francis  Manning  spoke 
with  quiet  self-possession,  nevertheless  his  hearers 
divined  a  hidden  wound,  and  unanimously  for- 
bore from  comment,  but  those  who  had  known 
the  man  fifteen  years  before,  marvelled  at  the 
change  which  had  come  over  his  whole  per- 
sonality. It  was  more  than  a  change;  it  was 
a  transfiguration.  What  trumpet-call  had  sound- 
ed in  this  man's  ears  to  rouse  him  from  his 
sleep? 

Mrs.  Ingram  looked  around  and  met  the  glance 
of  John  Malham,  millionaire,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  with  his  head  supported  on  his  hand.  Of 
all  the  men  in  the  room  he  looked  the  most  worn 
and  exhausted,  and  she  wondered  if  perchance  at 
this  very  moment  his  tired  brain  was  evolving 
another  Titan  scheme  by  which  fresh  coffers  could 


The  After  Years  339 

be  added  to  his  store.     Her  smile  had  more  of 
pity  than  envy  as  she  addressed  him : 

"Mr.  Malham,  it  is  unnecessary  to  ask  your 
report!  All  the  world  knows  how  you  have  suc- 
ceeded. It  only  remains  for  your  old  friends  to 
congratulate  you,  and  wish  you  a  continuaace  of 
your  success." 

"Thanks  very  much,  Mrs.  Ingram.  It  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  be  here,  and  to  meet  you  all  again. 
I  only  wish  I  could  have  managed  to  make  a 
longer  stay." 

Malham  was  obviously  ill  at  ease,  obviously 
annoyed  when  his  wife  took  up  the  strain,  and 
in  her  flat  voice  proceeded  to  enlarge  on  her  hus- 
band's marvellous  powers.  With  the  obvious 
intention  of  avoiding  the  ordeal  he  bent  forward 
towards  Juliet,  and  pointing  to  a  miniature  which 
hung  from  her  neck,  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Is  that 
one  of  the  six?  The  little  girl?  May  I  see?" 

Juliet  beamed  broadly  as  she  held  out  the  pearl- 
rimmed  case  containing  a  pretty  round  young 
face .     ' '  And  you  ?     How  many  have  you  ? ' ' 
{    "None,"  he  said  shortly,  and  Juliet  hurried  to 
retrieve  her  mistake. 

"Yes.  That's  the  girl.  A  great  pet,  of  course. 
I  called  her  Celia.  Her  father  thought  it  too 
fanciful,  but  he  had  had  his  own  way  about  the 


34°  What  a  Man  Wills 

boys,  so  I  insisted  on  it.  It's  such  a  pretty  name, 
so  sweet  and  winsome — don't  you  think  so?  And 
uncommon.  One  meets  so  many  Gladyses  and 
Phyllises,  but  so  seldom  a  Celia.  Did  you  ever 
know  a  Celia?" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  the  motherly  smile 
faded  at  sight  of  his  tortured  face. 

"Yes.  I  knew  a  Celia,"  he  said  thickly,  and 
Juliet  looked  hurriedly  in  another  direction,  her 
heart  leaping  to  a  swift  conclusion. 

"He  loved  a  girl  called  Celia,  and  she  died, 
and  he  married  Lady  Anne  for  her  position.  All 
his  success  has  not  brought  him  happiness.  Oh, 
the  poor,  poor  man!" 

Meantime  Lady  Anne's  voice  had  trailed  into 
silence,  and  Rupert  Dempster  was  answering  Mrs. 
Ingram's  unspoken  summons.  Like  Manning  he 
had  but  little  to  say,  but  there  was  all  the  difference 
in  the  world  in  his  manner  of  saying  it. 

"I  wished  for  Eve, "  he  said  simply.  " Here  she 
is!"  and  again  he  slipped  his  hand  through  his 
wife's  arm.  As  a  matter  of  course  he  had  seated 
himself  by  her  side;  as  a  matter  of  course  Eve 
had  looked  for  his  coming.  For  all  their  friendli- 
ness and  courtesy,  there  was  about  these  two  an 
air  of  detachment  from  their  surroundings,  an 
air  of  living  apart  in  a  world  of  their  own,  fenced 


The  After  Years  341 

round  with  an  ambuscade  through  which  no  darts 
could  pass.  The  affectionate  camaraderie  of  the 
Lessings  and  Maplestones  was  a  good  and  pleasant 
thing  to  witness,  but  the  bond  which  bound  these 
two  was  finer,  more  exalted. 

Eve's  eyes  were  deep  and  luminous  at  that 
moment,  but  their  beautiful  glance  held  no  re- 
membrance of  her  companions.  All  her  thought 
was  for  her  man. 

"Ah,  Rupert,  yes!  you  have  gained  your  wish!" 
Mrs.  Ingram  said  deeply.  She  looked  at  the  two 
as  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  a  reflection  of  their 
own  radiance  showed  in  her  own  face.  "It  was 
a  great  wish,"  she  said,  "a  wish  that  was  worth 
while,  for  your  treasure  can  never  be  taken  away. 
Death  itself  is  powerless  to  divide  your  souls. 
Dear  Rupert,  I  am  glad  for  you.  We  are  all  glad ! 
It  is  good  to  have  you  among  us  to-day.  .  .  .  " 

Here  ward  Lowther  bent  forward  in  his  seat, 
the  firelight  playing  on  his  eager,  animated  face. 
Throughout  the  evening  he  had  worn  an  air  of 
expectancy,  and  now  he  burst  eagerly  into  speech. 

"Mrs.  Ingram,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a 
tremendously  interesting  evening.  My  wife  told 
me  that  she  had  a  special  reason  for  wishing 
to  accept  your  invitation.  I  understood  that  we 
were  to  celebrate  some  sort  of  anniversary,  but 


34s  What  a  Man  Wills 

as  old  friends  you  will  remember  that  she  is  chary 
of  words,  and  I  was  entirely  ignorant  of  its  nature. 
I  have  been  intensely  interested  in  the  history  of 
the  various  wishes,  but  I  confess  that  my  chief 
feeling  has  been  curiosity.  Please  tell  me!  What 
was  my  wife's  wish?" 

Mrs.  Ingram  looked  at  the  corner  by  the  fireplace 
where  for  the  last  hour  a  white  figure  sat,  silent, 
immovable,  her  face  shadowed  by  an  outstanding 
beam.  Even  so  fifteen  years  ago  had  the  girl 
Lilith  Wastneys  watched  and  waited,  until  at  her 
hostess's  summons  she  had  moved  softly  forward 
to  make  her  extraordinary  pronouncement.  The 
remembrance  of  that  moment  was  vivid  in  the 
minds  of  her  old  friends,  as  Mrs.  Ingram  answered : 

"Lilith,"  she  said  deliberately,  "wished  for 
Power." 

The  next  moment  the  silence  was  broken  by  a 
peal  of  laughter.  It  was  Hereward  Lowther  who 
laughed,  giving  way  to  a  gust  of  amusement  with 
the  boy-like  unrestraint  which  still  characterized 
his  moods.  He  threw  back  his  head,  he  clasped 
his  knees,  he  opened  his  mouth  and  let  the  loud 
ha-ha's  echo  through  the  hall.  In  a  very  paroxysm 
of  amusement  he  repeated  the  word,  over  and 
again,  and  between  each  repetition,  swayed  with 
fresh  laughter. 


The  After  Years  343 

"Power!  Lilith?  Lilith  wished  for  Power? 
Of  all  the  inexplicable  wishes!  I  might  have 
guessed  for  months  but  I  should  never  have  guessed 
that.  Lilith?  the  most  humble  and  retiring 
of  women.  Look  at  her  now!  That's  where  she 
would  always  be,  if  she  were  not  driven  forward, — 
hiding  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner.  And  you 
tell  me  that  she  wished  for  Power  t  When  was 
that — fifteen  years  ago?  And  we  have  been 
married  for  twelve.  .  .  .  How  extraordinarily 
she  must  have  changed!" 

Through  eight  different  minds  the  reflection 
was  passing,  how  extraordinarily  Lilith  remained 
the  same,  but  it  did  not  become  mere  friends  to 
contradict  the  verdict  of  a  husband,  so  they  re- 
mained silent,  and,  his  outburst  of  amusement 
over,  Hereward  Lowther  vouchsafed  a  more  serious 
attention  to  the  problem. 

"Well!"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "we  may  say 
that  vicariously  she  has  gained  her  wish.  As  my 
wife — "  He  checked  himself  as  though  fearful 
of  seeming  to  boast,  and  added  quickly,  "I  should 
be  delighted  to  feel  that  I  have  been  able  to  pro- 
vide Lilith  with  anything  for  which  she  wished!" 

Lilith  bent  forward  and  sent  him  a  smile  of 
acknowledgment.  Then  her  eyes  travelled  round 
the  circle  and  rested  on  her  hostess's  face.  The 


344  What  a  Man  Wills 

two  women  looked  at  one  another  long  and  steadily 
and  a  flush  rose  into  Mrs.  Ingram's  cheeks." 

"I  think,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  must  reckon 
Lilith  among  my  successes.  Mr.  Lowther,  may 
I  tell  you  how  proud  my  husband  and  I  feel  to 
number  you  among  our  guests  to-night  ?  Ordinary 
people  who  can  only  stand  by  and  watch  feel  a 
profound  gratitude  to  workers  like  yourself,  who 
are  types  of  all  that  is  honourable  and  disinterested. 
England  owes  you  a  great  debt  to-day." 

Every  man  present  joined  in  a  murmur  of 
assent,  for  though  political  opinions  differed,  one 
and  all  acknowledged  the  singleness  of  Lowther's 
aim.  Across  one  or  two  minds  flitted  a  remem- 
brance of  the  tragic  eclipse  which  had  marked  the 
statesman's  early  career,  but  in  each  case  the 
remembrance  brought  with  it  an  increased  ad- 
miration. Not  one  man  in  a  thousand  would 
have  had  the  power  to  climb  out  of  so  deep  a  ditch ! 

And  now,  one  by  one,  the  nine  histories  had  been 
discussed,  and  the  company  instinctively  drew 
their  chairs  nearer  the  fire,  watching  with  ques- 
tioning eagerness  the  eloquent  face  of  the  woman 
whose  words  had  had  so  large  a  bearing  on  their 
lives.  Here  she  was,  an  old  woman  now,  worn  to 
the  point  of  breaking,  yet  vital,  as  ever,  with  the 
flame  of  an  encompassing  sympathy. 


The  After  Years  345 

"Ah,  dear  people,"  she  sighed,  "dear  people, 
it  is  so  good  to  meet  you  again !  I  am  so  grateful 
to  you  for  coming.  The  remembrance  of  this 
night  will  be  company  for  me  during  many  quiet 
days.  I  shall  have  much  to  think  over,  but  at 
present  I  am  conscious  only  of  one  thing — %that 
my  prophecy  is  true,  is  almost  terribly  true!  We 
are  only  faintly  beginning  to  understand  the  real 
power  of  steady,  concentrated  will.  The  thing 
that  a  man  aims  for,  with  a  strong,  single,  un- 
deviating  aim,  that  thing,  sooner  or  later,  a  man 
can  have  !  So  much  is  certain,  but  I  blame  myself 
for  not  insisting  more  upon  the  initial  question. 
Is  it  worth  while?  Oh,  dear  people,  so  often  our 
ambitions  are  not  worth  while.  An  aim  which  is 
to  ride  dominant  over  every  call,  an  aim  for  which 
all  hindrances  are  to  be  cast  aside,  must  needs  have 
a  spiritual  nature,  if  it  is  to  satisfy  a  spiritual  being. 
In  the  days  to  come,  teach  your  children  the 
importance  of  this  great  decision ;  teach  them  their 
power,  but  be  sure,  be  very  sure,  to  teach  them 
to  think  long  and  earnestly,  lest  in  their  blindness 
they  choose  the  dross,  and  go  starving  all  their 
days!" 

John  Malham  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  so  that 
his  face  was  in  the  shadow.  Francis  Manning's 
eyes  gazed  deeply  into  space.  Across  the  silence 


346  What  a  Man  Wills 

broke  the  harp-like  tones  of  Eve  Dempster's 
voice: 

"Mrs.  Ingram,  you  have  gained  your  own  wish. 
It  is  written  in  your  face  that  it  was  worth  while. 
Will  you  tell  us  what  it  was?" 

The  hostess  looked  down  at  her  thin,  locked 
hands.  Her  voice  trembled,  as  she  slowly  recited 
her  answer,  dwelling  with  eloquent  emphasis  on 
one  of  the  earlier  words: 

"I  have — LEARNED — in  whatever  state  I  am, 
therewith  to  be  Content!" 


THE    END 


Jk  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

C.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue  sent 
on  application 


An  Unknown   Lover 

•r 

Mrs.  George  de  Home  Vaizey 

Author  of  "  A  Question  of  Marriage  " 

« 

72°.     $1.35.    Postage  Extra. 

Mrs.  Vaizey  has  told  here  a  charming 
love  story,  and  has  told  it  well.  Her 
story  "  marches  "  and  at  no  point  does  it 
fail  to  hold  the  reader's  attention,  from 
the  first  description  of  the  rather  dismal 
English  home  to  the  last  picture  in  India 
whence  comes  the  "  Unknown  Lover." 
Her  characters  are  convincing  and  lov- 
able, her  descriptions  facile  and  clear,  her 
situations  real,  and  her  theme  and  setting 
delightfully  unusual. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Lady  Cassandra 

By 

Mrs.  George  de  Home  Vaizey 

Author  of  "  An  Unknown  Lover  " 
72°  $1 35.     Postage  Extra. 

'  A  brightly  written  story,  touching  the  funda- 
mentals of  life  understandingly  and  wholesomely. 
Dealing  with  the  love  of  a  man  and  a  woman 
between  whom  stands  a  barrier  that  may  not 
honorably  be  passed,  it  treats  sympathetically  and 
with  glow  the  heart  longing  of  the  lovers,  but 
emphasizes  two  principles  of  life  that  have  an 
old-time  validity.  Grizel  Beverly,  familiar  to 
the  readers  of  Mrs.  Vaizey's  Unknown  Lover, 
again  appears  in  the  present  story  and  proves 
a  dash  of  cayenne  in  the  unseasoned  daily  life 
of  parochial  Chumley.  Her  understanding  en- 
ables those  who  need  help  to  understand  them- 
selves. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Patricia 

By  Edith  H.  Fowler 

Author  of  "  For  Richer  or  Poorer,"  "  Life  of  Lord 
Wolverhampton,"  etc. 


12°.     $1.35 

Partly  because  she  loves  success,  and  partly  because 
she  needs  the  money,  the  heroine  of  this  story  accepts 
the  tempting  offer  of  a  publishing  house  to  incorporate  b 
a  biography  the  indiscreet  letters  of  a  diplomat  and  sets 
forth  without  restraint  the  full  text  of  matters  that  should 
never  have  been  committed  to  writing.  Only  when  the 
manuscript  is  irrevocably  in  the  publishers'  hands  and  an 
international  sensation  is  threatened  by  its  publication, 
does  she  meet  the  son  of  the  man  whose  reputation  she 
has  sold  behind  his  back,  and  falls  in  love  with  him  at 
first  sight. 

A  strong  story,  strong  not  only  because  of  the  dra- 
matic situation  out  of  which  the  action  grows,  but  strong 
in  equal  degree  because  of  its  moral  virility. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The 
Keeper  of  the  Door 

By  Ethel  M.  Dell 

Author  of  "  The  Way  of  an  Eagle,"  «  The  Rocks  of  Valpre," 
"The  Knave  of  Diamonds,"  etc. 

72°.     $1.40  net 

The  Keeper  of  the  Door,  a  physician  whose 
duty  it  is  to  guard  the  portal  through  which 
the  world-sick  soul  seeks  escape.  He  must 
fight  the  enemy  Death,  even  when  the  latter 
comes  in  friendly  guise.  On  an  impulse  more 
generous  than  wise  the  heroine  puts  into 
practice  the  other  view,  that  in  an  extreme 
case  of  hopeless  suffering  the  extra  drop  in 
the  spoon  that  converts  a  harmless  sedative 
into  a  death-dealing  potion,  is  the  only  fair 
way.  The  story  revolves  around  this  act, 
its  effect  on  the  heroine,  the  physician  whom 
she  loves,  and  one  who  seeks  revenge.  It 
shows  the  author's  remarkable  story-telling 
genius  at  its  best. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


ymimoi 

A     000127922     3 


